


Reign in Hell

by Seraphtrevs



Series: Only You [10]
Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: M/M, Twincest, domesticity in hell, lalo is a sociopath, nacho is a sociopath, nacho salamanca, salamanca harem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:46:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23865478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraphtrevs/pseuds/Seraphtrevs
Summary: Nacho is tired of getting kicked around.Grand finale to the Only You seriesTable of Contents:Chapter 1 - What Hath Night to Do with Sleep? (Lalo's POV)Chapter 2 - It Might Have Been (Domingo's POV)Chapter 3 - The Fifth Commandment (Manuel's POV)Chapter 4 - Not Wisely, But Too Well (Lalo's POV)Chapter 5 - Screw Your Courage to the Sticking Place (Lalo's POV)Chapter 6 - Taming Tigers (Nacho's POV)Chapter 7 - The Quality of Mercy (Lalo's POV)Chapter 8 - Hail Infernal World (Lalo's POV)Chapter 9 - De Noche Amarra Tu Corazón Al Mío (Tie Your Heart At Night to Mine) (Marco's POV)Chapter 10 - The Pleasures of Surrender (Lalo's POV)Chapter 11 - Where Peace and Rest Can Never Dwell (Nacho's POV)Chapter 12 - Myself Am Hell (Nacho's POV)Chapter 13 - What Thou Art Is Mine (Lalo's POV)Chapter 14 - TBD (Nacho's POV)
Relationships: Ciro/Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca, Domingo "Krazy-8" Molina/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga, Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga, Leonel Salamanca/Marco Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga
Series: Only You [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658944
Comments: 189
Kudos: 174





	1. What Hath Night to Do with Sleep?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _As Nacho ate, Lalo made his own breakfast. “So, feeling okay today?”_
> 
> _“I’m fine.”_
> 
> _“Not too sore? Things got a little…rough yesterday.”_
> 
> _Nacho set his coffee down. “Ever been shot in the gut?”_
> 
> _Lalo frowned. “No.”_
> 
> _“Yeah, well, it’s fucking excruciating. The pain was so intense that it obliterated any memory of what it was like not to hurt. It consumed me—there was nothing left.” He plunged his fork into the soft egg yolk; it oozed over his plate. “You can’t hurt me. Not really, anyway.” He smiled. A spot of red bloomed on his lip as the cut there cracked._
> 
> _Nacho never smiled._
> 
> There's something different about Nacho.

__

_Here we may reign secure, and in my choice_

_to reign is worth ambition though in Hell:_

_Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven._

\- John Milton, Paradise Lost

Lalo loved to watch Nacho sleep.

He didn’t sleep much himself—an hour or two and he was good. It was tragic, really, how much time other people lost to unconsciousness. But it gave him time to think, which is what he needed. The world could be so noisy. He relished the quiet, to be alone with his thoughts—tonight especially.

Nacho’s eyelashes brushed his cheeks as his chest rose and fell, one arm thrown over his head. Poor Nacho. He was so tortured. The situation with his papa had obviously weighed heavily on him. Had Nacho really thought that Lalo might hurt him? Was that why he’d said yes the first time? The thought made him queasy. True, Lalo hadn’t had qualms about...pressing his advantage, so to speak. But he’d always wanted Nacho to have good time, too.

 _Maldito seas, Tío Héctor_ , always pushing. Lalo would never disrespect his uncle by saying so, but Hector’s understanding of power was too literal. Forcing someone may work in the short term, but real power was getting people to _want_ to do what you tell them. And Nacho had wanted to.

At least, he thought so.

But never mind brooding over the past. Things would be different now that everything was out in the open. He brushed a finger over the bruise on Nacho’s face and winced. That had been an ugly scene, and confusing too. One minute he was telling Lalo to stop being “a psycho,” and the next, he practically demanded that Lalo lose his shit. Was it a test to see how much he cared? Did he secretly yearn to be possessed, to feel the tightness of the bonds of Lalo’s love, no matter how much he struggled?

Nacho stirred, so Lalo headed downstairs to make breakfast—huevos rancheros, eggs sunny side up the way Nacho liked them. Nacho emerged thirty minutes later, skin damp and flushed from the shower. He was dressed in red and black—Ignacio, born from the fire, burning bright.

“Perfect timing,” Lalo said. He plated the food and set it in front of Nacho. “Coffee?”

“Sure.”

Lalo poured him a cup—black, and one for himself—three sugars and a splash of cream.

Nacho accepted the cup. “How do you always wake up before me?”

“Eh, I only sleep an hour or so.”

Nacho stared at him. “For real?” He shook his head and took a sip of coffee. “That’s really fucking weird, Lalo.”

Lalo grinned. He loved the sound of his name in Nacho’s mouth.

As Nacho ate, Lalo made his own breakfast. “So, feeling okay today?”

“I’m fine.”

“Not too sore? Things got a little…rough yesterday.”

Nacho set his coffee down. “Ever been shot in the gut?”

Lalo frowned. “No.”

“Yeah, well, it’s fucking excruciating. The pain was so intense that it obliterated any memory of what it was like not to hurt. It consumed me—there was nothing left.” He plunged his fork into the soft egg yolk; it oozed over his plate. “You can’t hurt me. Not really, anyway.” He smiled. A spot of red bloomed on his lip as the cut there cracked.

Nacho never smiled.

A few minutes later, Lalo had his own plate. He sat beside Nacho. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Never better.” He ate the last bite of his breakfast, his tongue flicking over the fork to get the last of egg yolk. “So, collection day. Any other plans?”

Something about him was different. The tension in his shoulders was gone, and his expression lacked its usual stoniness. What had brought about this change? Was it relief that he didn’t have to worry about his papa anymore? Something else?

“No, no other plans. We can take it easy.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They passed a lazy morning together on the couch. Lalo usually chatted, but he felt quiet today, using his concentration to observe Nacho instead. What was he thinking? Lalo was usually pretty good at guessing what was going on in other people’s minds, but Nacho had always been something of a mystery. The longer he knew him, the deeper the mystery became.

When it was time, they headed for El Michoacáno. Domingo came in at one point. Apparently Nacho had given him the go-ahead to return to the weekly drop-offs instead of sending one of his crew. His eyes widened when he saw Nacho’s face. And then that timid little mouse gave Lalo a glare so full of hate that it took him aback. Well. Some fire in him, after all.

Of course, that only lasted a moment before his looked away, concentrating on the table while Nacho counted the money.

Lalo rubbed his chin. “You’re doing well with Sixth Street, Ocho Loco,” he said.

His eyes shot back up, now suspicious. Nacho was casting him his own skeptical look.

Lalo held up his hands to show he was being nice. “I mean it. Credit where credit is due, man. Keep it up and you’ve got a real future in the cartel.”

Domingo looked back to the table. “Thank you, _patrón_.”

Nacho finished counting the money. “You’re good,” he said.

Domingo glanced to Lalo, then back to Nacho. He lowered his voice and murmured something. In response, Nacho lay a hand on his arm.

“Everything’s good, Mingo,” he said, loud enough for Lalo to hear. “I’ll call you later.”

Domingo bit his lip. He stood and made his way to the door. For a moment, he hesitated and started to turn back, his lips parted as if he might speak. But he seemed to think better of it, and left.

A few dealers later, and they were done. Lalo walked Nacho to his car. “You coming over later?”

“Sure. Got some shit to do first. See you around seven?”

He leaned in and lowered his voice. “ _Por supuesto. Hasta entonces, mi amor_.”

Another little smile, another dab of blood. Lalo wanted to lick it up. But later, later. He could wait.

***

Lalo decided on enchiladas for dinner. He was whipping up the sauce when Nacho came in, holding a large, white bag. He set it on the counter.

“What’s that?” Lalo asked.

“Take-out.”

Lalo frowned at his sauce. “But I always cook.”

“I felt like Chinese. You know how to cook Chinese?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.” Nacho headed for the cabinets and got out some plates.

Lalo dumped his sauce and joined Nacho at the table. A little change in routine was fine. He wasn’t much for routines, anyway.

They ate. Afterward, Lalo took a fortune cookie from the bag and cracked it open. He squinted at the message. _Be on the lookout for coming events. They cast their shadows beforehand._

“So what does your future foretell?” Nacho asked.

He crumpled the paper and tossed it back in the bag. “Good luck, of course. How about you?”

Nacho took a cookie. “ _You will find success in a new business venture._ ” Nacho turned the slip over in his hands. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

Nacho steepled his fingers and brought them to his lips. “Did you mean it when you said you’d take me with you to Mexico?”

Lalo heart skipped a beat. “I always say what I mean.”

“Who will run things up here?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Well, we won’t stay in Mexico all the time. We’ll travel back and forth. I’m sure we’ll find someone to babysit while we’re away.”

“Here’s the thing—I think it should be me.” Nacho held up a hand when Lalo opened his mouth to protest. “I want to come with you, and I will. But there’s no reason for me to live in Mexico permanently—not while things are volatile up here. You agree?”

Lalo hated to admit it, but he was right. And he liked that Nacho was thinking of the future. He ran a hand over his face. “ _Sí, estoy de acuerdo_.”

“Good.” Nacho gathered up the plates and took them to the kitchen. “Do you think we should make it official?” he asked over his shoulder.

Lalo frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I want to meet the boss.”

Lalo’s eyebrows shot up. “Don Eladio?”

Nacho finished putting the plates in the dishwasher. “Why not?”

“No reason, I suppose.” He drummed the table. “ _Es bueno_ , I’ll set it up.”

After dinner, they had a few drinks, watched TV. Nacho let Lalo spoon him. His cock stayed half-hard the whole night, pressing into Nacho’s firm ass. As it got later, Lalo lay a kiss on the nape of Nacho’s neck as he put a hand on his hip, rolling forward. Nacho responded immediately, rolling over in his arms and kissing him with a little sigh. Lalo flicked his tongue over the cut on his lip, savoring the salty taste.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Nacho breathed.

Lalo’s cock jumped. As if he could say no to that.

They stumbled up the stairs, still groping and kissing. They shed their clothes, and then Nacho steered him to the bed and gave him a little push until Lalo landed on his back. In a feisty mood, apparently. Lalo liked feisty.

Nacho crawled on top of him and kissed him. Lalo ran a hand down his body, pausing at the puckered scar on his side. “I wish I could have gotten my hands on the motherfucker who did this to you.”

Nacho pulled back. His eyes glinted. “Me too,” he said, his voice cold and hard. He sat up and played with a nipple. “What would you do, if you caught the guy?”

Lalo grinned; this sounded like a fun game. He pushed himself up until he was sitting, too, with Nacho straddling his lap. “First, I’d break his fingers. I’d make him say your name every time I snapped one.”

Nacho took his cock in his hand and started stroking it. “Then what?”

“I’d cut your name into his skin, a hundred times, and douse him with your favorite tequila afterward.” Lalo rocked his hips, rubbing his cock against Nacho’s ass. He tightened his grip on Nacho’s shoulders. “I’d smash out his teeth with your shoe.”

Nacho’s hand sped up. “And smash his glasses.”

This had become oddly specific, but Lalo rolled with it. “I break them, and the glass cuts his eyes.”

Nacho stuttered a moan as his breathing sped up. “Break into his house, let him never feel safe again.”

“ _Sí, amorcito_ , anything you want, anything—”

“Make sure no one fucks with me, ever again!”

Lalo mouthed at his neck. “I’d kill them all, whoever you want, Nachito, _mi amor, mi rey_!”

Nacho’s hand flew over his cock as he moaned and came, shooting white ropes that made a mess between them. Lalo continued to rock, rubbing himself against his ass—he was so worked up he could come like this.

But Nacho slithered out of his grasp. Lalo was going to protest, but then Nacho slid to his knees in front of the bed. Lalo spread his legs wider and ran a hand over Nacho’s head, muttering endearments as he kissed Lalo’s thighs, rolled his balls in his mouth, licked up the length of his cock and then engulfed him.

Lalo gripped the edge of the bed, letting Nacho set the pace. Not that he teased—no, he went at it like he was starving and Lalo was a banquet. Over and over again his mouth descended, so hot and wet that Lalo thought he might dissolve, and Nacho would drink him down like the desert absorbing the rain, and he was done, done…

Lalo’s orgasm hit him like lightning. Nacho didn’t relent until he’d coaxed every last drop out of him. Lalo fell back to the bed, with Nacho crawling in beside him and curling up under his arm.

They basked in the afterglow. Eventually, the stickiness got too annoying for him, so he fetched a wet cloth from the bathroom and wiped them both off. After tossing the washcloth in the hamper, he lay down again and drew Nacho into his arms.

“Too bad my cousins beat me to it, eh?” Lalo kissed his temple.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Too bad.”

“You say things like that, you almost sound like you have Salamanca blood.”

“I do. When I was shot, the guy did a transfusion with Marco’s blood.” Nacho tilted his head up. “I guess that makes this incest.”

Lalo roared with laughter, and then winked. “I have to ask—how was it with my cousins?”

Nacho looked skeptical. “You’re really okay with what happened?”

“You asked me to be less psycho! So here I am, less psycho.” Lalo grinned. “Besides, it’s not like you fucked some strangers.”

Nacho pulled back and stared at him. “The fact that you’re related to them makes it better?” He shook his head and mumbled something about Salamancas.

Lalo nudged him again. “So, tell me. What was it like?”

Nacho took a minute before answering. “Intense,” he finally said. “I felt…safe.”

Lalo’s eyebrows shot up. “Safe? With them?”

“Yeah.”

A tendril of jealousy snaked its way around his heart, but he brushed it away. “Do you feel safe with me?”

Nacho kissed him. “I feel as safe with you as you feel with me.”

Lalo pressed his lips against Nacho’s neck and grinned. “Ah, the perfect amount.” He kissed him.

Nacho allowed it for a minute before pulling away. “I need you to do something for me.”

Lalo frowned. He sounded serious. “Anything.”

“When we go to Mexico, I want to take my dad.”

Lalo was surprised. “ _Su padre? Por qué?_ ”

“He isn’t safe here. He needs to be in Mexico.”

“Then why isn’t he there now?”

He looked away. “He’s stubborn, is why.” Nacho bit his lip. “He’s not going to want to go.”

It took Lalo a moment. “Wait—are you asking me to kidnap him?”

Nacho laughed a little. “Yeah, I guess I am. You have someplace you can put him up? Get him everything he needs?”

Lalo thought about it. “It could be arranged. But it might not be so easy to keep him if he doesn’t want to be there?”

“I’ll explain it to him. He’ll have to listen.”

Lalo sighed. “The things we do for family.” Lalo kissed his nose. “Nacho Salamanca. I think I like that.”

Nacho didn’t say anything. His face went blank as his mind retreated into that castle of his. Lalo knew he wouldn’t get more out of him tonight.

Lalo laid with Nacho until his breathing evened. When he was sure he was asleep, he extracted himself and pulled the covers up over him. The world grew quiet again, but the night was no longer just a time for contemplation.

He would also keep vigil.


	2. It Might Have Been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Domingo didn’t expect Nacho to explain._
> 
> _He was never one for explanations, even as a kid. Nacho guarded his mysteries carefully like they were valuables that someone might steal. Domingo tried not to take it personally. Nacho didn’t open up to anyone. He was happy enough to just be around him. If he was very lucky, Nacho would let his guard down and he’d catch glimpses of…someone, hiding behind his layers of defenses—a someone with a sad smile and soft eyes. Fortresses that strong must be defending something precious._
> 
> _Domingo used to think that maybe he’d be the one to break through Nacho’s defenses at last and rescue that someone he saw in there. He knew better now. He wasn’t strong enough._
> 
> Domingo and Nacho have a talk.

_Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, "It might have been.”_

-Kurt Vonnegut, Cat’s Cradle

Domingo didn’t expect Nacho to explain.

He was never one for explanations, even as a kid. Nacho guarded his mysteries carefully like they were valuables that someone might steal. Domingo tried not to take it personally. Nacho didn’t open up to anyone. He was happy enough to just be around him. If he was very lucky, Nacho would let his guard down and he’d catch glimpses of…someone, hiding behind his layers of defenses—a someone with a sad smile and soft eyes. Fortresses that strong must be defending something precious.

Domingo used to think that maybe he’d be the one to break through Nacho’s defenses at last and rescue that someone he saw in there. He knew better now. He wasn’t strong enough.

So it surprised him when Nacho called the day after their encounter at El Michoacáno. “You wanna shoot some hoops?” he asked.

Domingo was too surprised to answer at first. “Uh, yeah, sure,” he finally stammered, feeling like an idiot. “Where?”

“Usual spot. Meet me after sundown.”

The ‘usual spot’ was a small park a few blocks away from Nacho’s dad’s place, although it could hardly be called their ‘usual spot’ anymore—it had been at least seven years since they’d played together. Nacho was waiting for him, dressed in basketball shorts and a tank. He almost didn’t recognize him out of his flashy clothes. He looked like the Nacho he used to know, before all of this. Except he was older, and a bruise darkened half his face, and his lip was torn.

It was worse than the bruise Lalo had given him.

Domingo looked away—he didn’t want to be caught staring. He almost got smacked in the face when Nacho threw the ball to him.

“Sorry,” Nacho said. “You okay?”

If Domingo was braver, he would have said, _Shouldn’t I be asking you that?_ Instead, he mumbled he was fine, and dribbled the ball onto the court.

In spite of how long it had been, they fell into an easy rhythm. The park was sparsely populated, and there was no one on the court. While the heat of the day still lingered, every passing moment brought in a little bit more of the cool night air. Domingo gave himself over to the physicality of the game, letting the beat of the ball against the court drum out his darker thoughts.

Nacho hadn’t lost his edge. People used to laugh when they’d see Nacho come up to the court because he was so short. It never seemed to bother him—if anything, he liked getting the drop on people. They’d won a lot of bets.

They tired quicker than they used to. Nacho pulled out two water bottles from his gym bag and passed one to Domingo as they sat together on a bench, so close that their knees touched. Domingo wished he could stop time and keep Nacho here where they’d played as kids, safe. But there were no safe places anymore, and no more hanging out for no reason other than that they were friends.

“Why did you ask me to come here?” Domingo finally asked.

Nacho took a long drink before replying. “I’m going to Mexico here in a few days.”

Domingo blinked. “Mexico?”

“Yeah. Lalo is going to introduce me to the higher-ups in the cartel.”

Domingo’s heart beat faster. “Why?”

“Because I asked him to.” Nacho rolled the basketball with his foot absently. “Will you be able to run things while we’re gone?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. Lalo is right—you did a good job with Sixth Street. You aren’t the scariest guy in town, but you handle things, and you pay attention. I don’t need some hot-headed idiot on a power trip. I need someone steady—someone I can trust.” He met Domingo’s gaze. “I can trust you, right?”

“Of course you can,” Domingo said quickly. “I just thought—”

“Thought what?” Nacho prompted when he didn’t continue.

“I thought you wanted me to quit. To leave the game.”

Nacho ran a hand over his face and sighed. “It’s too late for that. Once you’re in, you’re in.”

A few moments of silence passed. Domingo’s mind was racing with questions—why did Nacho want to be introduced to the cartel? Did he have some sort of plan? Was he in danger? Why had Lalo hit him?

But Nacho was his oldest friend, and he knew that questions would get him nowhere. So he waited for Nacho to speak again.

“Did I ever tell you how I got in the game?” When Domingo shook his head, Nacho continued. “I was nineteen. Somehow, Papa and I managed to turn things around at the shop. I was able to finally get my GED, and pick up a job on the side to make some of my own money. There was a garage down the street—Leo’s, it used to be called. I worked part-time there on small repairs, oil changes, that kind of thing.

“So one day this guy comes in. Older, dressed real flashy. He came in with this gorgeous 1965 Mustang Shelby. Said he was looking to fix it up and sell it. Obviously, I jumped at the chance. He was impressed with my work, so he kept bringing cars in.

“I wasn’t stupid. I knew what he was—a dealer. He didn’t exactly try to hide it. But he was cool, and he liked me. And since I was a stupid kid, I was flattered. I mean, a big, important drug dealer is impressed with me? Made me think I was hot shit.”

He laughed bitterly before continuing. “Anyway, one day he brings in a Mercury Cougar—a little more busted than the cars he usually brings in. But I was determined to bring this one around. I put hours into restoring that car—fell in love with it. The guy, he could tell this one meant a lot to me. So he said I could have it for $1500.

“I was so excited. I had $1000 saved—I just needed another $500. So I went to Papa and asked for a loan. We’d turned the shop around, like I said. Business was good. And I’d pay him back, every penny. Do you know what he told me?”

Domingo shook his head.

“He said I was being irresponsible. That I didn’t need a car like that. I should save my money for something important.” Nacho rubbed his eyes. “I gave up my senior year of high school to save his fucking shop. I worked like a dog in the sewing room while my friends went to prom, or off to college, or hell, to some job they actually wanted to do. But to want one thing for myself was irresponsible, apparently."

Nacho rolled his shoulders, as if shaking something off. “Anyway, I went back to the guy and told him the bad news. He said I could have it for free, if I came to work for him. And so I did.”

Domingo wasn't sure what he should say. “I don’t remember you having that car,” he said eventually.

“I didn’t keep it at my dad’s house. I parked it with a friend—or well, a fellow dealer. It got stolen about six months later. Or maybe my ‘friend’ sold it.” Nacho shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter—he’d dead now. So’s the guy who got me in. Once he was dead, I got in with Tuco.” Nacho turned away. “My dad’s coming to Mexico, too.”

That surprised him. “Like, with you?”

“Yeah. He’s retiring.”  
  
Domingo frowned. “He hasn’t mentioned anything about it to my dad.”

Nacho looked away. “Yeah, well, it was a last-minute decision. Got a good offer on the shop.”

“Oh.” Domingo shuffled his feet. “So are you going to stay there permanently?”

Nacho let out a long breath. “Either I’ll be back in a few weeks, or I won’t be coming back at all.”

Domingo’s heart sped up. “What do you mean? Are you in trouble?”

Nacho laughed a little. “I’m always in trouble. But I’m going to change things. Make it safer—for Dad, for you.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“I can’t tell you that.” Nacho’s voice became sharp. “And you can’t talk about this with anyone else, understand?”

“What would I tell them? You haven’t explained shit!” Domingo was surprised at his own outburst. His hands shook. “There’s got to be some way to get you out.”

Nacho stared at him. “I don’t want out.”

That caught him by surprise. “You don’t?”

“No. I did for a while." His mouth set in a grim line. "But it’s too late—for me and for you.”

“And what about Lalo?” he blurted out before he could stop himself. Something occurred to him. “Unless that’s what Mexico’s about? You have a plan to get away from him?”

Nacho looked at his feet. “No, I need him.”

“So you’re just going to let him keep doing that to you? What if it gets worse?”

Nacho’s brow furrowed. “Do what to me?”

Domingo touched Nacho’s bruise. “This?”

Nacho took Domingo’s hand in his own and lowered it. “It’s not what you think.”

“How? He fucking hit you, and he’ll keep doing it. He’s a psycho and we have to get you away—”

“Mingo,” Nacho interrupted. He took him by the shoulders and made Domingo meet his gaze. “I don’t want to get away. I like being with him.”

Domingo was stunned into silence. _Even after what he did to me?_ Domingo didn’t voice the question. He didn’t want to know the answer. His eyes stung.

It was fully night now, the park illuminated only by a few stuttering lights. The few people who had been around earlier were gone now, leaving Nacho and Domingo alone. “Do you ever wonder if things could have been different?” Domingo finally asked.

Nacho shook his head. “No. What’s the point? They are what they are.” Nacho stood and put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, I didn’t mean to freak you out. I just wanted to give you a heads up. Don’t worry about me. Just concentrate on making sure things go as smooth as possible, okay? Can I count on you?”

Domingo didn’t speak until he was sure his voice wouldn’t shake. “Of course you can.”

Nacho nodded, patted his shoulder. “Good. Call if there’s any trouble.” He gathered his things. “I gotta go. You coming?”

“I thought I’d stay awhile,” he said. “See you around, I guess.”

Domingo didn’t move for a long time after Nacho left. It was peaceful in the park. For a moment, he could pretend that he was a kid again, whose biggest worry was his SAT scores.

Nacho might not think of what might have been, but it had been on Domingo’s mind non-stop since that night with Lalo. Where had it gone wrong? He felt like if he could pinpoint when everything went to shit, maybe that would somehow magically give him the answer to get out of this mess. But the knots were too thick to untangle.

But here, in the place where he’d spent so much of his childhood, it finally came to him. Nacho’s dad’s business. If he’d taken the loan Domingo’s dad had offered, Nacho would have never dropped out of school. Maybe they would have gone to college together. They could have been roommates. Nacho could major in business—he’d be better at it than Domingo was, anyway. And when they graduated, maybe they would have gone into business together instead of working with their dads. Maybe a car dealership—Nacho loved cars.

It might have been. But it wasn't. Nacho was right—it was pointless to dwell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two. :(
> 
> Updated the chapter count - looks like it's going to run for ~~seven~~ eight. (Subject to change, as always lol). Sneak peek at the table of contents:
> 
> Chapter Three - The Fifth Commandment (Manuel's POV)  
> Chapter Four - Mi Casa Es Su Casa (Lalo's POV)  
> Chapter Five - Screw Your Courage to the Sticking Place (Lalo's POV)  
> Chapter Six - Hail Infernal World (Lalo's POV)  
> Chapter Seven- Hell Is Empty (Mike's POV)  
> Chapter Eight- Myself Am Hell (Nacho's POV)


	3. The Fifth Commandment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Lalo got in the car and put his gun in the glove compartment. He turned to Manuel and grinned. “I think Nacho gets his stubborn streak from you, yeah?” He laughed. “Two stubborn Varga men. Good thing I am so patient!”_
> 
> _Ignacio leaned his head against the glass and shut his eyes. Lalo was right. He did look tired._
> 
> _Tears rolled down his cheeks. “Mijo, please. Don’t do this! I promise I won’t go to the police.”_
> 
> _Ignacio didn’t look back. He didn’t even open his eyes. “You’re an honest man, Papa. Don’t let me take that from you, too.”_
> 
> Manuel moves to Mexico.

_Honor thy father and thy mother_

Manuel’s hands always hurt.

The arthritis had set in early—he ignored it for a year before going to the doctor, because how could a man his age have arthritis already? He was thirty-five, with a wife and a son to provide for. And he needed his hands in the shop. He couldn’t have arthritis.

He went through treatments, took medications. It worked for a little while, but over the years, the treatments became less and less effective. He couldn’t work the long hours he once did. And then Josefina died, making everything even harder.

The shop starting failing, and he had to let many of his employees go. He would sit at the sewing machine late at night, tears streaming down his cheeks as he tried to work through the pain, but it was no use.

It was one of the worst days of his life when he had to ask Ignacio for more help. His son already worked hard for him, all while keeping his grades up in school. He thanked God every day for such a dutiful son. And then he had to ask him what no father should ever have to ask of his child—for him to make a sacrifice.

And Ignacio had. He had put school on hold and come to work full time in the shop. More than full time—he worked the kind of hours that Manuel had worked when he first started the business.

They turned it around. Manuel was able to bring his workers back. Ignacio decreased his hours to part-time and got his GED. They had nearly lost everything, but through hard work and sacrifice, their shop thrived. He imagined Ignacio meeting a nice girl and getting married, and one day, hopefully far in the future, he could retire and pass the business to him. The American Dream, fulfilled.

But something had gone wrong. It was hard to pinpoint when the trouble had started. Could it have been the argument over that ridiculous car? Manuel hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but looking back, it seemed like that was the moment Ignacio started pulling away.

He got his own place. While he still helped out part-time at the shop, he took a full-time position at Leo’s garage. Manuel approved. His son was a man now; it was good for him to make his own way for a while.

But months later, when Manuel took his car in, Leo said Ignacio had quit. Manuel confronted him, asked him how he was making a living. Ignacio responded that it was none of his business. Manuel was shocked at his son’s coldness. Their relationship had always been close.

But since his son was a man and not a boy, Manuel respected his son’s privacy. Perhaps he felt too hemmed in. And after all, Manuel had asked him to give up so much. Maybe it was only natural that he wanted some space to be on his own. There would be time for the nice girl and the grandbabies later.

Business took another dip. Manuel worried that he would have to lay off workers again, but Ignacio saved the day, going door to door to find new clients. These clients never came in, but the orders they made! Barely damaged furniture sent in with requests for outrageous upgrades in the most expensive fabrics. Only a few of these extravagant orders was enough to send the shop back into the black. Again, Manuel thanked God for his dutiful son.

Except Manuel got curious. Ignacio insisted on making all the deliveries himself. He said that his customers were used to seeing him. He had some friends who helped with the deliveries. They had fallen on hard times, Ignacio had said, and he was giving them work under the table.

But his friends did not seem like people who needed money. They wore flashy clothes and gaudy jewelry. And why did none of these customers ever come in? Manuel looked at the order forms—no phone numbers, no addresses. He was going to ask his son about it, but he hesitated. He had the feeling that if he asked, he would lie to him.

And so he followed Ignacio and his friends on a “delivery” one day. To his shock, they went to the dump. All of the fine furniture his son had spent hours restoring, just thrown away. Why would he do this? Were the orders fraudulent? But who was paying for them?

Manuel turned around and headed for his son’s apartment. He’d wait for him there, take him by surprise and get the truth out of him. But while he was waiting outside his son’s door, another man came. Flashier than his other friends, and uglier, like a pit bull.

The man pulled a gun and started screaming questions at him. Manuel was too frightened to respond. Fortunately, Ignacio arrived, waving his arms at the other man, his eyes wide with panic. _Tuco, that’s my dad!_

 _Your dad?_ The other man tucked his gun into the back of his pants and laughed manically. He grabbed Manuel around the shoulders and shook him, still laughing. _Shit, man! Why didn’t you say so? You deaf or something? I almost shot you!_ He turned to Ignacio. _You gonna introduce us or what?_

Ignacio no longer looked panicked. The expression he wore now was one Manuel did not recognize. Hard like stone. _Papa, this is my friend, Tuco._

Tuco released his shoulder and grabbed his hand. _Tuco Salamanca._

Manuel’s heart shattered. All at once, it made sense.

Ignacio, his beloved son, was a drug dealer.

***

Another long day at the shop. Manuel was exhausted, and his hands ached. It seemed worse lately, although that might just be his heavy heart. His whole body hurt, not just his hands. Every day, Ignacio’s absence literally pained him.

Perhaps if he hadn’t been distracted by the pain, he would have noticed that his home had been broken into, again. If he had, he would have left and called the police. He loved his son, but he needed to impose boundaries. But he didn’t notice until he was already inside and saw the kitchen light was on.

He should still have left, but a flicker of hope kept him there. Perhaps Ignacio had taken their last conversation to heart. Maybe he was ready to take responsibility for his actions.

That hope suffocated as he entered the kitchen. His son was at the kitchen table, but he wasn’t alone. Beside him sat a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and a moustache. Ignacio remained stone-faced, but this man grinned when he caught sight of Manuel—a grin so large it took up his whole face.

The man stood and held out his hand. “Señor Varga, it is an honor to meet you.” He took Manuel’s hand before he could protest, shaking it vigorously. “My name is Eduardo Salamanca, but you can call me Lalo.”

 _Salamanca!_ A cold gust of fear blew over him, followed by anger. How dare this man invade his home?

Manuel snatched his hand back. “Get out of my house, or I will call the police!”

This Lalo frowned, but he seemed more concerned than angry. “Please, señor,” he said softly. He put a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you sit down?”

Said as if this were his house, and Manuel was just a guest. His hands clenched, sending shocks of pain through him. He turned to his son, who was looking at the table. A bruise darkened one side of his face. A spike of sorrow cut through his anger. He tried to read his son’s expression—was he frightened? Did he have a choice here, or had this man forced him? If so, what was the purpose? His son had said the cartel had no more designs on his shop. Had that changed?

The hand on his shoulder pressed harder, but Lalo’s voice remained gentle. “Come on, get off your feet. You must be exhausted! Nacho tells me how hard you work.” His son’s name was warm in his mouth.

Manuel resisted. “Tell me what this is about!”

At last, Ignacio looked up and met his gaze. “Please, Papa. Sit down.” His expression was still stone, but his voice was soft.

Manuel hesitated for another moment, but as it was unlikely he’d be able to escape Lalo to get to the phone, he reluctantly sat.

Lalo sat as well. His grin had returned, wider than before. “There we are, nice and friendly! Now, let me set your mind at ease. This is not cartel business. An honest man like you, dragged into such a thing?” He waved a hand as if batting the idea away. “Impossible! I would never dream it.”

Clearly, it was a lie, but to what purpose? He decided to play along until he could figure out how they meant to trick him. “Then why are you here?”

Lalo ran a hand over his mouth. “Nacho tells me that your hands hurt you, yes? Arthritis? It would be good for your health to retire. Sell your business.”

Had his son really gotten his cartel boss to come to force him to sell his business? Anger ripped through him as he turned to his son. “You don’t get your way, and so you have these cartel thugs come to force my hand?”

Ignacio’s eyes flashed. “Papa. Show respect.”

To Manuel’s surprise, Lalo came to his defense. “No, no. Naturally, he is upset. Who wouldn’t be? This is all so sudden! But understand that your son has only your best interests at heart.”

Manuel snorted. “No, he has only his interests in mind!” He pounded the table. “I will not do this. You cannot force me!”

Ignacio rubbed his forehead. “It’s already done.”

Manuel’s heart stopped. “What do you mean?”

“Gutierrez has bought the shop.”

He shook his head. “How is that possible? I have signed no papers—”

“I know how to sign your name,” he said quietly. “I used to do it all the time.”

Dread swirled in his stomach. “No—Gutierrez would not go along with this. He’s an honest man.”

Nacho’s lip curled in bitter amusement. “Honest men are a dying breed, Papa. You may be the last.”

“And you expect me to announce this to my employees?”

Lalo answered. “No. Gutierrez will tell them that you’ve had a medical emergency, and you’ve asked him to run things. After a few weeks, he will announce that you have decided to sell the business in order to concentrate on your health.” He folded his hands in front of him. “And then, in another week or two, he will tell them that you died.”

Manuel’s heart, which had felt still moments before, raced to life, beating so hard he thought it might burst. He jumped to his feet, but quick as lightning, Lalo was behind him, taking hold of his shoulders and pushing him back into his chair. He didn’t hold any strength back this time.

“Shhh, it’s okay.” Lalo’s voice remained soft but his grip was iron. Manuel struggled against it in vain. “It’s all for the best! I have a beautiful villa for you in Chihuahua—you’ll be waited on hand and foot. Anything you want, I’ll get for you. Don’t you deserve to enjoy your retirement?”

Hot tears pooled in Manuel’s eyes. “No—”

“Your things have been packed and are already on their way to your new home,” Lalo continued. “We leave now.”

“No!” Somehow, he managed to twist out of Lalo’s grip. He sprang to his feet and made for the door.

Lalo leaped in front of him. He had a gun in his hand. “Accept my apologies, but as your son said, it is done, and there is no undoing it. You will be coming with us.”

Ignacio stood. “I’ll bring the car around.”

Once he left, Lalo gestured with his gun for him to sit again. Lalo sat down with a sigh, his gun still trained on him. “This pains me, truly,” he said apologetically. “I wish we had met under better circumstances.”

Manuel stared at him, baffled. Why would he want to meet him? And now that he thought about it, none of this made sense. Ignacio had hoped to escape the cartel, hadn’t he? That’s why he wanted him to sell the shop—so that the two of them could run together. This wasn't running from the cartel--it was running to it.

He wet his lips. The man before him was his enemy, but perhaps he was more honest than his son. “Why are you doing this?”

Lalo scratched his chin. “Your safety is a distraction. I don’t like Nacho distracted. I want one hundred percent of his attention.” He flashed a grin. “And so, I will protect you.”

Manuel's brow furrowed. “Protect me? From who, if not you?”

Lalo laughed. “There are many more players in this game other than Salamancas—outside the cartel and in. Now, between you and me, I think he’s being paranoid. But that’s something I like about your son—he thinks about all the angles, you know? So maybe he’s right.”

Manuel swallowed. “You can’t protect me here?”

Lalo shrugged. “My power is not so strong in the US. I can look after you better from Mexico—besides, money stretches much farther south of the border, eh? You will live like a king!” His expression grew more serious. “Besides, your preoccupation with the police worries me. You will not be tempted to make that mistake in Mexico, I think.”

It was true. The Mexican police would do nothing for him. His shoulders sank.

A car horn sounded. Lalo stood, his gun still pointed at him. “That’s our ride.”

Slowly, Manuel got to his feet. Lalo got behind him. His voice lowered to a purr as he spoke in his ear. “You are struggling still. I understand. This is a hard thing. But in time, you will see that your son acts from love.”

“My son loves only himself!”

Manuel cried out in pain as Lalo jammed the barrel of the gun against his spine. Lalo’s purr became a growl. “You know, there’s another way to make sure he isn’t distracted by you. Cheaper, too. But it would make Ignacio very sad, and that would, in turn, make _me_ sad. So I think from here on out, you will have only kind words for your devoted son.” He shoved the gun in his back again. “Yes?”

Maneul’s knees nearly buckled. “Yes,” he managed to say.

A black SUV idled in the driveway. Ignacio remained in the driver’s seat as Lalo opened the back door and forced Manuel inside. Lalo tucked his gun into the back of his pants before he leaned in and buckled Manuel’s seatbelt as if he were a child. A moment later, and cold metal encircled his wrist. Before he could react, he was handcuffed to the door.

“Apologies again, señor,” Lalo said. “When we’re over the border, we can make you more comfortable.” Lalo shut the door and addressed Ignacio. “I’ll drive.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re tired and upset. You can drive after you get some rest.” When Ignacio didn’t move, Lalo threw his hands in the air. “Don’t you be difficult, too! What good will it do us if you crash?”

Ignacio hesitated for another moment, but then he got out of the car and walked around to the passenger’s side. He slammed the door shut.

Lalo got in the car and put his gun in the glove compartment. He turned to Manuel and grinned. “I think Nacho gets his stubborn streak from you, yeah?” He laughed. “Two stubborn Varga men. Good thing I am so patient!”

Ignacio leaned his head against the glass and shut his eyes. Lalo was right. He did look tired.

Tears rolled down his cheeks. “Mijo, please. Don’t do this! I promise I won’t go to the police.”

Ignacio didn’t look back. He didn’t even open his eyes. “You’re an honest man, Papa. Don’t let me take that from you, too.”

****

They drove all night. Manuel tried to keep alert, to at least see where they were going, look for an opportunity to escape. They stopped once or twice to relieve themselves, but Lalo kept right on top of him with the gun. If he were going to escape, he’d have to get them to let down their guard. He tried to think of a plan, but the monotony of the night wore on him, and at some point he must have drifted off. He awoke when sunlight hit his eyes. It looked to be a little after dawn. They were on some remote road, with nothing but desert around them.

Lalo looked at him in the rearview mirror. “Get some rest, did you?” His voice was quiet, but cheerful. Manuel didn’t respond. Instead, he looked to his son, who was sleeping.

“Let’s not wake him yet, yeah?” Lalo said. “He could use the rest.”

Manuel eyed Lalo. He didn’t look at all like someone who had been up all night driving, which was a shame. He had been hoping fatigue would be his ally in escape. “What about you? When will you rest?”

Lalo chuckled. “I will rest when I’m home. But that’s not for a while yet. First, we need to get you settled!”

“Where are you taking me?”

Lalo hummed before answering. “I think it’s better if you don’t know. It’s remote. Off the map, you might say.”

Manuel’s heart sank, although he was not surprised. If he were to be kept somewhere even near a town, he might get away. But remote in Mexico could be very remote. He wouldn’t escape so easily.

“But don’t think I’m putting you in some dump! No, I mean it when I say you will live like a king. You have but to name a thing, and it’s yours.”

“Then take me back,” Manuel said coldly. “I am a US citizen with no desire to be a king.”

Lalo got very quiet. A shiver of fear ran through Manuel, but it seemed unlikely that Lalo would kill him at this point.

“Stubborn, with big cojones,” Lalo finally said. He chuckled. “Yes, that seems about right.” His eyes flashed in the mirror again. “So when I introduced myself, you had a big reaction. I take it you know my family?”

“Who doesn’t?”

Lalo laughed. “Yes, but I mean that you know us, not just _of_ us. Don Hector, my uncle—he tried to bring your shop into the business, yeah?”

“Yes. But Ignacio said he changed his mind.”

Lalo snorted. “Well, he had a stroke.”

A stroke? Come to think of it, Ignacio had never said exactly why the plans were no longer in effect. He had just assumed Ignacio talked them out of it.

A chilling thought came to him, but he did not voice it. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear it.”

“Thank you. I know he’s a little rough around the edges, but I lost my father at a young age and he stepped into that role for me. And we must embrace our family, no matter their flaws. Family is everything.” He sighed. “It kills me to see him as he is now—trapped in his own body, unable to speak. I would not wish such a fate on my worst enemy.”

Manuel fingered the cuff on his wrist. “To be trapped is a horrible thing.”

If Lalo appreciated the irony, he didn’t show it. “Have you met my cousin Tuco?”

“Yes. He pulled a gun on me.”

Lalo laughed. “That sounds like Tuco!” He coughed. “You haven’t had very good experiences with my family, have you.” He grew thoughtful, and then brightened. “Hey, you hungry? I was thinking we could stop for breakfast, stretch our legs.”

Manuel cast a critical eye at the barren landscape. “Stop where?”

“It would be a detour, but there’s a nice place not too far from here. Should be fun! What do you say?”

As if he had a choice in the matter. But a place with restaurants was more promising for escape. “I would like that.”

“Excellent!” He hit the brakes and did a U-turn, which woke Ignacio with a start. It seemed Lalo had decided he’d had enough rest.

“There he is!” Lalo said as Ignacio rubbed his eyes. “Feeling more rested, I hope?”

“Are we there?” he asked blearily.

“No, not yet. I thought we’d go have breakfast.”

He looked outside. “Where?”

“Saraciso. You’ll love it. It’s a bit of a detour, but we’re not in a rush, are we?”

Ignacio’s lips thinned. “The plan was to go straight there, no stops. If you’re hungry, we’ve got those sandwiches in the cooler.”

Lalo waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, come on, Nachito. It will be fun!”

 _Nachito?_ Manuel looked back and forth between the two of them. They didn’t speak as an employer and his valued employee. It was more than that. Were they truly friends?

Ignacio tensed and turned around. Their gazes met. Ignacio opened his mouth as if to say something, but thought better of it. He turned to Lalo again. “We could have breakfast at Papa’s new place. You could cook for us.”

“Some other time. Trust me, you will love this place.”

Ignacio rubbed his forehead. “Can we just stick to the plan?”

All at once, Lalo’s joviality vanished. “That’s enough from you,” he snapped. “We’re going to Saraciso.”

So Lalo was still the boss, then. Manuel’s head hurt trying to make sense of it.

***

Saraciso was a quaint oasis in the middle of nowhere. Manuel made note of as many landmarks as he could. He couldn’t be sure how far off Saraciso was from their eventual destination, but so far the town was his only lead. They pulled up to a homey little restaurant and went inside.

The waitress, a plain young woman, lit up when she caught sight of them. “Don Lalo!”

Lalo opened his arms wide and embraced her. “Veronica! How are you, chiquita? Where’s your beautiful mama?”

The mother in question appeared from the kitchen, her smile as wide as her daughter’s. “Don Lalo! You’ve been away too long!”

He gave her a hug, too, and then put a hand on Ignacio’s shoulder. “Veronica, Maria, I would like you to meet my good friend Nacho and his father, Manuel.”

His son inclined his head but said nothing. Manuel forced a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Any friend of Don Lalo’s is a friend of ours!” Maria said. “Please, let us take care of you.”

Lalo chatted with the women as they were led to their table on the picturesque patio. Lalo and Ignacio sat on one side of the table, with Manuel across from them. Red, pink, and white flowers bloomed around them, filling the air with a sweet perfume. There were only a few other customers, but they might not have been there at all with the way the staff fussed over them. Maria called all of her employees out to pay their respects, even the dishwashers. People kissing up to the cartel was nothing special, but these folks seemed to genuinely like Lalo, and he seemed to like them back.

“Now,” Maria said after she’d sent everyone back to work. “What can I get for you?”

“As if you don’t know.” Lalo winked at Manuel. “I’ll tell you a secret. Maria here makes the best chilaquiles this side of the border.”

Maria blushed. “No, you are too kind!”

“It’s the truth! And I pay good money to keep that secret—I don’t want any gringo tourists ruining my favorite spot!”

Maria inclined her head. “Don Lalo is too generous.”

That explained it, then. Did he control this whole town? Manuel’s heart sank. His chance of escape seemed low.

Maria left to see to their order. Lalo waggled his eyebrows at Ignacio. “So, better than sandwiches out of a cooler, eh?”

Ignacio remained stone-faced. “It’s nice.”

A flicker of irritation sparked in Lalo’s eyes. Manuel wondered if his son noticed.

Lalo cleared his throat. “So! I thought we’d have breakfast and then hit up my tailor—get some new threads for Papa Varga here.”

“Your tailor?” Ignacio raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, my tailor! One of them, anyway.” He turned to Manuel. “No offense, but your wardrobe could use some updating.”

When had he seen his wardrobe? He hadn’t imagined Lalo himself folding up his old clothes and packing them away. Was he that hands-on with everything?

“I don’t need any new clothes,” he said.

Lalo pointed at him. “But you’re getting them. No complaining!” His tone was pleasant, but there was menace there, the hint of poison under the sweetness. Lalo elbowed Ignacio lightly. “Maybe we’ll get your measurements too, yeah? Just in case.”

“I’m good.”

“Eh, we’ll see.” He met Manuel’s eyes. “Your son, he’s a sharp dresser. I bet his mother was stylish.”

The sudden invocation of Josefina hit him like a hammer to the chest. Ignacio stiffened too.

Lalo held Manuel’s gaze like a snake with a mouse; he couldn’t look away until he answered. “Yes, she was a fashionable woman.”

“What was her name?”

“Josefina.”

“ _Josefina_ ,” Lalo echoed. His voice caressed her name in a way that felt too intimate. He smiled. “Beautiful name for a beautiful lady. I hope you don’t mind, but I flipped through a few of your old photo albums.”

Ignacio’s nostrils flared. “You _what?_ When?”

“When we were packing up! You went off to take care of something, I think.” When Ignacio continued to glare at him, Lalo threw his hands up. “What? Is her existence some big secret?” Lalo addressed Manuel again. “Your son has her eyes, yeah? So big, with the lashes! And the way she held little Nachito? Ah, you can just tell how big her heart was. I would have liked—”

Ignacio slammed his fist on the table, startling them all. “ _Lalo._ Shut the fuck up about my mom.”

Silence. Manuel’s heart stopped as he waited for the promise of violence under the surface of Lalo’s chummy façade to be fulfilled.

But Lalo surprised him again. Instead of angry, his next words were apologetic. “I was only making conversation, amor—” He coughed. “Amigo. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Ignacio rubbed his forehead and said nothing.

Lalo rubbed his face, too, and heaved a sigh. But then his cheerfulness returned. “My mother was a beauty herself—no, _is_ a beauty. She’d beat me bloody if she heard me suggest age has somehow diminished her! A beauty, but fierce too. The things she put my father through when he was trying to win her…and after he won her. His whole life, really. Some people say she pushed him to an early grave.” Lalo laughed. “But I think he would agree it was worth it. He was crazy about her. Or she made him crazy. But if love doesn’t make you crazy, is it really love at all?”

Lalo looked at his son and licked his lips. Then turned back to Manuel and drummed the table. “Maybe I’ll bring her to your place for dinner sometime.”

Ignacio stared at him, a vein in his temple throbbing. “Why?”

Lalo shrugged. “Why not?” He looked to Manuel. “What do you say? Would you like to meet her?”

Manuel was saved from making a response by the arrival of their meal. It was as delicious as Lalo had promised.

Manuel tried to keep his guard up, look for ways to escape, but it was difficult. Perhaps if he were hog-tied in the back of the car, he would be more focused on coming up with a plan for escape. But being taken out to breakfast in a beautiful Mexican town on a lovely summer day muddled his mind, made it hard to think straight.

Instead of focusing on his escape, he came back over and over again to the puzzle of the relationship between his son and his boss. Lalo had called him very valuable. What sorts of things was he doing for the cartel that merited the extreme lengths Lalo was willing to go to on Ignacio’s behalf? It made him queasy. And what had happened to Ignacio’s desire to leave this life behind? Why had he gotten in deeper instead?

If only he could get his son alone. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

***

Breakfast ended, and they set out for the tailor’s. The town was so small that they walked rather than getting in the car again. Lalo whistled and talked nonsense about food, the weather, his favorite fabrics—one-sided banter that didn’t require a response. Manuel tried to catch Ignacio’s eye, but his son avoided him at every turn.

The tailor, an older man, was as happy to see Lalo as Maria and her daughter had been. Lalo flipped through fabrics while the tailor took Manuel’s measurements—Ignacio’s, too. Manuel desperately tried to think of a way to talk to him privately, but Lalo’s suffocating presence made it impossible to even share a private look.

But then, to Manuel’s surprise, Lalo created the opportunity himself. “I’ve got an errand to run,” he said.

Ignacio raised an eyebrow. “An errand? What?”

“Ah, that would spoil the surprise! Won’t take me long. You two stay here, look at fabrics.” He gave Ignacio’s arm a pat before leaving.

Ignacio flipped through fabric swatches. Manuel eyed the tailor. Was he spying on them, ready to report back to his patron? He kept his voice down. “Mijo, I understand that you are afraid for me, but this is not the way. This man is a bad man—”

Ignacio snorted. “No kidding.”

“Then how can you trust my safety to him?” He put a hand on his arm. “Mijo, please. I can’t live in a cage for the rest of my life—not with this man as my jailor. Tell him you changed your mind.”

He set the fabrics aside. “And what, take you back? You seriously believe that’s an option at this point?”

“Perhaps not,” Manuel conceded. “But maybe you could give me money, let me disappear—”

Ignacio laughed bitterly. “That was my plan before. You turned it down.”

Manuel wiped some sweat from his brow. “I won’t call the police. I swear it.”

“That isn’t the only factor here. I’ve made a lot of enemies. They’ll attack me through you. I can’t let that happen.”

“Enemies worse than a Salamanca?”

He rubbed his face. “Not worse. Just different. There are worse fates than being kept in luxury, Papa. I see them every day.”

“And what if he changes his mind?” Manuel pointed out. “What if you displease him somehow? Then what will become of me?”

Ignacio shook his head. “That won’t happen.”

“How can you be so sure? These cartel leaders are capricious, their moods changing with the wind. You might think you’re indispensable, but these men have no loyalty.”

“He won’t change his mind,” he said firmly. “I have leverage.”

Manuel blinked. “Leverage? What do you mean?” When he didn’t answer, Manuel gripped his arm again. “Blackmail?”

Ignacio met his gaze, something half-mad swirling behind his eyes. “No, Papa. Something stronger.” He turned back to the swatches. “I think this color would look good on you.”

Manuel let his hand drop away. He wrapped his arms around himself. In spite of the heat of the day, he felt cold.

Ignacio consulted with the tailor about Manuel’s new wardrobe. They asked him the occasional question about his preferences, but all Manuel could do was shrug. He wasn’t escaping this, he realized with a sinking stomach. Maybe if he were a young man, he’d have the strength to at least try. But his hands hurt, his body ached.

The thing that pained him the most was his heart.

***

An hour or so later, they were back on the road, traveling away from civilization. Lalo didn’t cuff Manuel this time. Perhaps he could sense that the fight had gone out of him.

“You’re going to love your new place,” Lalo said. “It was my mother’s once—a little place for when she wanted to get away from it all. She doesn’t like going so far out anymore now that she’s older, but I keep it up for her in case she changes her mind.”

The “little” place was a beautiful villa, somehow both grand and homey, on a well-maintained plot of land. The idyllic scene was somewhat marred by the barbed wired covered walls that surrounded it.

“Well?” Lalo asked as they got out of the SUV. He opened his arms wide. “It’s beautiful, no? I think you’ll be quite comfortable here!”

Manuel glanced again at the barbed wire and said nothing.

Fortunately, Lalo was too distracted to take offense. A few people emerged from the house; Lalo waved them over. “And here’s your staff!” He motioned to two towering, hard men with guns slung over their shoulders. “This is Santiago and Luis—your bodyguards. Good men, been with the family for years.”

Manuel nodded to his jailors.

Lalo put his arm around a short, sturdy woman. “And this is Juana, your housekeeper. A capable woman, and a fantastic cook.” He gestured to an elderly man. “There’s Miguel, your gardener.” Lalo turned to the last man, dressed better than the others. “And this is Dr. Francisco Martinez, a personal physician to my mother for many years. He will keep you healthy, and he’s an excellent card player!”

The doctor shook his hand. “So pleased to be serving you, señor.”

Ignacio stood to the side the whole time, his arms crossed, his face unreadable. Lalo put an arm around his shoulder. “A good place for your papa, yeah?” His voice was soft.

He gave a nod. “Yeah. It’s good.”

Lalo’s smile was so wide it nearly split his face. “Come on, let’s take the tour!”

If Lalo noticed that neither of the Vargas were as enthused as he was, he didn’t show it. After the tour Juana made them lunch, and then it was time for Ignacio and Lalo to leave. Manuel’s heart sped up. His son really was going to abandon him in this gilded prison.

“Hey, don’t look so discouraged!” Lalo said. “We’ll be back to visit soon, yeah? And you’ll have to come to our place sometime. You know, once you’re settled in.”

Manuel’s brow furrowed. What did he mean, ‘our’ place? Did he mean the Salamancas?

Lalo held out a hand. When Manuel didn’t take it, Lalo put his arms around him instead. “You’re right, no handshakes. You’re family now.” He pulled back and slapped him on the back. “Papa Varga.” He grinned at Ignacio. “You were right—this was a good idea.”

Ignacio rubbed his forehead. “Can we have a minute?”

“Of course, of course.” Lalo headed for the SUV.

The two of them said nothing for a long moment. “You need anything, just let them know. I’ll be back soon.”

Manuel gave him a hard look. “You leave me here now, don’t bother to come back.”

At last, that stone façade cracked. “Papa—”

Manuel turned his back and walked away, into his prison. He didn’t look back.

At least, not until he was inside the house. He peeked through the curtains just in time to see Lalo putting a hand on his back, speaking to him lowly. Ignacio shook his head and rubbed his eyes with one hand.

And then Lalo Salamanca put a finger under his son’s chin, tipping his head upward, and kissed him on the mouth.

Manuel stumbled backward. _Leverage_ , his son had said. This was what he meant?

He shook his head, as if he could banish the image from his mind. “No…” he whispered.

Dr. Martinez appeared at his side. “Is everything all right, señor?”

Manuel didn’t respond. He went back to the window—maybe he had been seeing things—

It was worse this time, because both his son’s arms were around Lalo’s neck as he kissed him back.

He nearly jumped when the doctor touched his arm. “Perhaps you should sit down,” he said gently.

Manuel allowed himself to be led to a chair. The housekeeper appeared with a cup of tea. Waited on, hand and foot, in a country estate far greater than anywhere he ever imagined he’d live. It was likely he’d die here, but not until many years had passed. Years and years, in this paradise in hell, as his son made love to demons.

He put his face in his hands and wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Papa. :(
> 
> Next up - a honeymoon in hell! Lalo is going to lay down some capital-R ROMANCE.


	4. Not Wisely, But Too Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Lalo poked at the fire with a poker. “She’d like you—my mother, I mean. My sisters, too. They’re in Mexico City – diehard city dwellers, all of them.”_
> 
> _Nacho gave him a long look before replying. “So you’d introduced me as what, your amigo?”_
> 
> _Was Nacho…annoyed? Lalo almost laughed. “And what would you have me introduce you as, eh?”_
> 
> _“I don’t know, Lalo. That’s why I’m asking.”_
> 
> _Lalo sobered. Nacho only said his name when he was serious. “It matters to you?”_
> 
> _Nacho sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I’m just trying to figure out what…this is. What are we doing?”_
> 
> _Lalo didn’t reply. The same question was very much on his mind, but now was not the right time. He wanted everything to be perfect._
> 
> Lalo makes a commitment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to krokorobin for help figuring out the boys' star signs!
> 
> And a huge thank you to [asdllkshfad](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/asdllkshfad) at Tumblr for creating [this gorgeous art](https://asdllkshfad.tumblr.com/post/623914135032414209/seraphtrevs-i-dont-think-i-can-ever-put-into) to accompany the story, and for her kind permission to include it here!

__

__

_Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see._

_She has deceived her father, and may thee._

\- Othello, Act 1 scene 3

_Home._

Just the idea of it filled Lalo with joy. His sanctuary was a vibrant oasis in the desert of life. From his big, beautiful villa to the green pastures where his horses grazed, every inch of his estate breathed tranquility.

The only parts that were less than picturesque were the barbed-wire covered walls. But those dangerous walls were what made his sanctuary possible, so Lalo thought them beautiful, too.

He glanced over at Nacho as he drove up to the gate. Nacho was staring out the window, his expression stone. He’d said nothing the entire drive, locked away in that mental fortress of his. From experience, Lalo knew there was no forcing him from his tower.

But perhaps his prince could be coaxed out by a more enticing castle.

Miguel was on duty. He approached them cautiously, his gun in hand. Lalo couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he rolled down the window. “Is this the way to greet an old friend?”

Miguel’s serious expression melted into delight. “ _Patrón!_ We did not expect you back so soon!”

“I wanted to surprise you!” Besides, It was a good way to make sure his little mice weren’t playing too much while the cat was away, but he didn't say that. He laughed and gestured to the gate. “You going to let us in or what?”

Miguel opened the gate and jumped onto the car, shooting in the air and whooping in celebration as Lalo continued on the twisting driveway towards his home. Sun shone through the canopy of trees, casting the world in an idyllic glow. The chirping of birds and the gentle buzz of friendly insects replaced the harsh sounds of traffic and crowds. Lalo breathed in the sweet air that wafted through the car window. No city stench here, just trees, flowers, and earth, and a special smell peculiar to his home, like a mix between sunshine and dust.

He glanced over at Nacho. His expression was still stony, but his prince was at least peeking out of his tower. Lalo gave his knee a quick but thorough caress and grinned.

His people had gathered on the lawn, laughing and clapping. Lalo put the car into park and jumped out, his arms wide as he laughed along with them. He went to Yolanda first, enveloping her delicate frame in his arms. Years and years ago, she had been sturdier, but always soft, always with a sweet for her Lalito. As soon as he became a man with a home of his own, he stole her away from his mother to be his housekeeper. It had been a battle—Yolanda was an exquisite cook.

And dear Cecilio, with his weathered old hands that tended to the gardens and the trees—the keeper of his paradise. The guards he was less attached to—it didn’t do any good to get overly invested in the soldiers who might give their lives to defend the realm—but it still did him good to see their smiling faces.

Among them, Ciro caught his eye, flushing a little. Too sweet to be a solider, really, but Lalo hadn’t been able to resist stealing him away from Don Eladio, who had no appreciation for pretty boys—and no idea what to do with them, either.

Lalo turned to see what had become of Nacho. He hung back, his arms folded over his chest.

He beckoned. “Nachito, don’t be shy! Come on over.”

Nacho crossed over, still stiff. Lalo put his arm around his shoulders. “Everyone, I’d like to introduce you all to my good friend Ignacio. He’ll be staying with us for a while.” They reacted with the appropriate amount of delight.

He beamed and turned back to Nacho. “Nacho, these are my people.” He brought Nacho over to Yolanda. “Yolanda here is the best cook in all of Chihuahua—you will eat like you’ve never eaten before in your life.” He gestured to Cecelio. “Cecelio—he takes care of my gardens. His tomatoes are the best ever.”

He named off the guards. “Ciro, Raoul, Miguel, Guildaro…” He trailed off as he forgot the names of the newer members of his staff. “The rest of these fools are supposed to be guarding this place, but I keep them around because they’re so pretty, eh?” As everyone laughed, he caught Ciro’s eye and winked. Predictably, the boy blushed.

Usually, this would please him, but he had Nacho to impress. He went stone-faced. “So you’re really just going to stand there, eh?”

Ciro’s eyes widened. “Sorry?” he asked.

Lalo gestured at the car. “Do you expect my guest to carry his own things in?” he bellowed. He shoved him. “Don’t be lazy, you little asshole! Move!”

Ciro scrambled to obey. Nacho crossed his arms again and gave Lalo a look he had a hard time interpreting. Lalo dismissed the others with a wave and put his arm back around Nacho. “Come on, Nachito! Smile! You’re at my home! Do you like it?”

Nacho’s face twitched into a brief smile. “It’s nice.”

“ _Nice?_ That’s all you’ve got to say?” He shook his head. “Oh Nachito, this is better than nice. Come, let me show you.”

He gave Nacho the tour of his villa, with its simple but elegant country charm. So different from Nacho’s home—all urban and cool modernity. “The country will be good for you,” he said as they walked the hallway to the bedrooms. “Fresh air, peace and quiet—you need it, _amorcito_.” He gestured to the guest room, where Ciro had deposited his things.

Nacho quirked an eyebrow. “Am I ‘ _amorcito_ ’ here, or your _amigo_?”

Lalo grinned and pulled him into the bedroom, shutting the door behind them. He crowded him against the wall, one arm on either side of him, pinning him into place. “Here? This is my kingdom. You are whoever I want you to be.” He leaned down for a kiss.

Nacho allowed it for a moment before pushing him away. “But we have separate rooms?”

Irritation pricked at him. It was true that this was his kingdom, and he didn’t hide who he was from his people. However, a certain amount of plausible deniability was required for everyone’s comfort. He set aside his annoyance and teased him instead. “You think one closet is enough for all our shirts?”

That startled a laugh from Nacho. Lalo took a moment to treasure it—his prince wasn’t easily amused. Then he grabbed him around the waist and hoisted him over to the bed. A little push and Nacho was on his back, those eyelashes of his fluttering.

“You worried I’ll neglect you?” he asked as he unbuttoned his own shirt. Nacho didn’t respond, but his breathing sped up. Lalo shrugged his shirt off and threw it to the floor, then climbed on top of him. He pressed his lips to Nacho’s ear. “I’ll fuck you on every bed in this house,” he purred, running a hand between his legs.

Nacho threw his head back and let out a breathy moan. “Oh yeah?”

Lalo smiled and hummed. “And over every couch.” He kissed his neck. “And by the fire pit on the patio…” Another kiss. “Out in the pasture…” He undid Nacho’s fly and slipped a hand inside. “And wait until you see my garage. Ten beautiful cars—I’ll have you in the back seat of every last one of them.” He captured his mouth in a kiss.

They scrambled to get naked. Even though Lalo had a head start, somehow Nacho beat him to it. Lalo sucked in a breath at the sight of him, spread out naked on the bed, sunlight streaming in from the window and casting him in a golden glow, the gold chains around his neck sparkling. So fucking beautiful, and all his. Every castle needed a prince, and he’d found one at last.

Lalo took him into his arms and kissed him, again and again, their bodies rubbing against one another. His cock was so hard it was almost painful. Normally, he would want to feast on Nacho, but instead he had an overwhelming urge to claim him, to make sure Nacho knew he was his.

Reluctantly, he untangled himself from Nacho’s embrace. “Don’t move,” he said, pointing at him.

Lalo rushed over to the en suite bathroom and rifled through the drawers until he found some lube—leftover from a night with Ciro, if he remembered correctly. He returned to find Nacho lying on his back, his hands clasped behind his head. The pose displayed his body perfectly—and the smirk on his face told Lalo that he knew it, too.

Lalo set the tube aside and kissed Nacho’s broad chest, pausing to worry a nipple, and then licked a trail downward. He breathed in the pungent, male odor as he brought Nacho’s cock between his lips. Lalo allowed himself a few blissful sucks before grabbing the lube and coating his fingers.

Nacho never took long to get ready anymore—his body opened to him like a flower in spring. Lalo used a light touch as he slicked himself—he was close to the edge already. He spread Nacho’s thighs wide and guided his cock between them, breaching him with one long, slow slide. By the time he was fully seated, both of their chests were heaving.

“ _Mi amor_ ,” Lalo breathed. He leaned down for a kiss. “Nothing feels as good as being inside you.”

Nacho moaned and moved a hand to his cock, but Lalo batted it away. “No—you come on my cock, and nothing else.”

Nacho’s eyes flashed. “You better fuck me good then.”

Lalo grinned. “As you command, _mi rei_.”

He pulled out nearly to the tip, then slid back in again, and again. He kept it slow for as long as he could, drawing out moans and curses. Nacho locked his legs around him and encouraged him to speed up.

Lalo obliged, fucking him in earnest now. The bed creaked under the weight of their passion, the headboard hitting the wall like the thudding of a heart. Each thrust came harder and faster than the one before.

Nacho’s cock bounced between them, leaking at the tip. Nacho obediently kept his hands twisted in the sheets. He bit his lip and threw his head back, moaning in need. Lalo knew his body well enough by now that he knew just the angle to hit and exactly how hard to go to send him screaming over the edge, his cock spurting between them in gushes.

Lalo followed soon after, pushing in as deep as he could and pumping him full of come, marking him on the inside. For a brief, ugly moment, he remembered that Marco had done this first, but he batted that thought away. Marco had him once. Lalo would have him forever.

Still, some anger lingered. He splayed his hand over Nacho’s throat, feeling the beat of his pulse. “Who do you belong to?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

“You,” Nacho sighed. “Only you.”

Lalo took his hand away, satisfied. He pulled out and made a face at the stickiness. “Shower,” he said, giving Nacho’s ass a swat.

They cleaned up quickly. Lalo got dressed in his discarded clothes, but he picked out another outfit for Nacho while he finished up in the shower—his favorite of Nacho’s shirts, which was a deep maroon, and tight black jeans. He handed them to Nacho when he came back into the bedroom.

“No underwear,” he said as Nacho accepted them. “It will make it easier when I decide to fuck you again.”

Nacho smirked. “You serious about screwing me all over the house?”

Lalo pulled him in for a kiss. “How many times do I have to tell you? I always mean what I say.”

“Liar,” he said.

Lalo gave his bottom lip a nibble. “I mean it when it comes to you, _amorcito_.”

Nacho raised a skeptical eyebrow.

He released him with a chuckle. Lalo surveyed the room with a frown—the rumpled bed, the duffle bags on the floor. This wouldn’t do. He went to the door and poked his head out. “ _Ciro!_ ” he shouted. “Ciro, get your ass in here!”

A few moments later, Ciro came flying down the hall. “Yes, _patrón_?” He looked back and forth between them and flushed—it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what they’d been up to.

Lalo gestured. “Look at this! Our guest’s luggage all over the floor? This is acceptable to you?”

Ciro’s eyebrows furrowed—understandable, since this wasn’t a part of his usual duties. “I-I’m sorry, _patrón_.”

“Well? Clean it up! Put his things away.” He pointed at him in warning. “And don’t just stuff his clothes in the bureau. Hang them up nice.”

“Yes, _patrón_.” Ciro set his gun down and went to work.

“And make the bed, too!”

Ciro didn’t turn around, but the back of his neck darkened. “Yes, _patrón_.”

Lalo wet his lips. It might be a fun game to make Ciro watch—but no, this was not the time for games. He meant to show Nacho he could be serious.

“Ciro usually unpack your luggage?” Nacho asked as they made their way down the hall.

“No, but Yolanda is busy cooking dinner, yeah? Can’t have her interrupted.” He clapped his hands once. “Let’s go see what’s she’s making!”

***

It turned out to be _enchiladas rojos_ —warm and fragrant with just the right amount of spice. One taste and he was a child again, filling his belly as he listened to the adults talk business. He never paid much attention to what they said—it wasn’t until he was older that he realized exactly what his family did for a living. All adult business was dull to children.

In truth, he found it dull now. Or maybe dull wasn’t the right word—there was certainly always a lot of excitement in the cartel. But it was repetitive. Unfulfilling.

After dinner, Lalo took Nacho outside. It was the perfect night to sit around the fire pit with drinks—warm, but not too warm, with a full moon shining from a clear sky. They sat side by side. Lalo draped an arm around Nacho’s shoulders.

“You don’t see stars like that in the city,” Lalo said as he sipped his cognac.

Nacho hummed in agreement. The light of the fire danced across his skin, making him glow. His broad shoulders were relaxed for once. He looked almost content. It was as good as time as any to start feeling him out.

“How old are you?” Lalo asked.

“I just turned thirty-three.” He took a drink.

“Thirty-three,” Lalo echoed. “Did you ever think of settling down?”

Nacho sputtered and nearly choked—Lalo gave him a few firm pats on the back as he recovered. “Like—get married? Have kids?”

Lalo nodded. “Was that ever something you wanted?”

Nacho finished his drink and poured another. “I mean—I guess I used to when I was younger, before I got into the game.” He rolled his glass in his hands as he thought. “I don’t think I ever really wanted to, honestly. It’s what my dad wanted. But the kind of girls who would be okay with marrying a drug lord aren’t the types he’d approve of, anyway.” He took a long drink. “You?”

Lalo stretched. “I had my opportunities, but nothing stuck. Maybe if I had found a woman as incredible as my mother, but she’s one of a kind! And I like men better, besides.” He gazed into the fire. “I never thought I’d live this long.”

“You aren’t that old, are you?”

“Nah, I’m—” He was about to say forty-five, but stopped. That wasn’t right. Last year, he’d turned…forty-eight? And his birthday was next month. Was he really a year away from fifty? And that meant there were sixteen years between the two of them. Of course, he knew Nacho was younger, but by that much? _Dios mío_. Never in his life had he felt so old.

He rubbed his face and sighed. “Well, anything over forty is ancient in our trade, yeah?” he said in a lighter tone. “Most of us end up either dead or in jail before then.”

“Is that what happened to your dad?”

“No, my dad died of cardiac arrest. Salamanca men have bad hearts.” He thumped his chest. “Guess it’s just a matter of time with that too, eh?”

“You don’t seem worried.”

Lalo shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me, living with death over my head. But another forty-plus years of life? That’s a long road to travel.” He met Nacho’s eyes. “Especially alone.”

Their gazes held for a moment. Nacho looked away first, turning toward the fire. “Yeah, well, clock’s ticking on me, too, if you’re right.”

“I don’t think so,” Lalo said. “No, I mean it,” he continued when Nacho raised his eyebrows. “You’re a survivor, Ignacio. You won’t be so easy to kill. So maybe you should think about the future.”

Nacho’s lips thinned. Already, Lalo could see the wheels turning in his head. His Ignacio liked time to mull things over. It was enough tonight to plant the seed. In a few days, that seed would bear fruit, and then Lalo would harvest it.

Lalo drained his drink. “Enough seriousness for one night.” He leaned over and rubbed Nacho’s thigh. He thought of that stiff denim rubbing against Nacho’s bare cock and balls every time he moved. Arousal unfurled in him…but it had only been a few hours since they made love, and in spite of earlier intentions to have Nacho again tonight, he realized he wasn’t up for it. Because he was almost fifty years old. _Mierda_.

He pulled his hand away. “You said you just turned thirty-three? When was your birthday?”

“April eighth.”

Lalo thought about it. “Wait a minute, that was just after we met, yeah?” He slapped his arm. “Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?”

Nacho rolled his eyes. “And what would you have done? Bought me a present?”

“Maybe.” Lalo thought about it some more, trying to pin down how long they had known each other at that point. “April eighth, April eighth…”

“It was two days after our first night together,” Nacho said. “And then you disappeared for a week.”

Oh. Lalo coughed. “So that makes you, what, an Aires?”

Nacho shrugged. “I don’t really pay attention to that shit.”

“My mother is crazy for astrology,” Lalo said. “She had all our charts done when we were kids. I’m a Leo.”

“That literally means nothing to me.”

“It means we’re both fire signs!” Lalo grinned. “Seems about right, eh?”

“If you say so.”

Lalo poked at the fire with a poker. “She’d like you—my mother, I mean. My sisters, too. They’re in Mexico City – diehard city dwellers, all of them.”

Nacho gave him a long look before replying. “So you’d introduced me as what, your _amigo_?”

Was Nacho…annoyed? Lalo almost laughed. “And what would you have me introduce you as, eh?”

“I don’t know, Lalo. That’s why I’m asking.”

Lalo sobered. Nacho only said his name when he was serious. “It matters to you?”

Nacho sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I’m just trying to figure out what…this is. What are we doing?”

Lalo didn’t reply. The same question was very much on his mind, but now was not the right time. He wanted everything to be perfect.

“Do you know what my mother would say if I told her you were my lover?”

Nacho shook his head.

Lalo took a moment to channel his mama. “She’d say, ‘Ay, Lalito, why can’t you fuck girls like a normal man? Although this one is very good-looking, I suppose it’s understandable. But so quiet! You know I don’t trust quiet people. What are they thinking about that’s so private? Nothing good, I’m sure.’”

Nacho put a hand over his mouth, but Lalo could tell he was smiling. “So that’s who you get it from,” he said.

Lalo cocked his head. “What from?”

“Your inability to shut up.” And then he burst into laughter—real, honest laughter.

It was a rare and beautiful sound. Lalo relished it and laughed with him. When their snickers died down, Lalo leaned in until their lips were a breath apart. “Nachito,” he murmured.

“Lalito,” Nacho murmured back with something close to a giggle. Lalo chuckled too—he could get used to a happy Nacho. He let Nacho close the distance between them. Their kisses soon grew heated. Lalo ran a hand between his legs—he was rock-hard. The vigor of youth. Lalo might not be up for fucking him, but he could still satisfy his prince.

Lalo slid to his knees. Nacho peered at him through heavy lids. “You really don’t care if your people see?”

“My people see what I pay them to see. Nothing more.” Lalo undid his fly and pulled out his cock.

Nacho sighed as Lalo pleasured him. Lalo didn’t draw it out. Soon Nacho’s release spilled over his tongue. He lapped up every last drop, and then tucked his cock back in his pants.

He got up and sat beside Nacho again. His eyes were closed, his face slack. He was half-asleep.

Lalo chuckled and kissed him. “Let’s get you to bed.”

They returned to the house. Lalo led Nacho to his room and helped him get undressed. Not that he needed it, but Nacho enjoyed being treated tenderly. It would probably embarrass him to point it out, so Lalo didn’t.

He tucked him into bed and kissed his cheek. The bruise there had faded; in another few days, it would be gone. “Sweet dreams, Ignacio.”

He mumbled something and rolled over. In a moment, he was snoring.

Lalo sat on the bed and watched him for a little while. He achieved a peace in sleep that eluded him in the waking world. Poor Nachito. So tortured. He needed a sanctuary, and Lalo was happy to share his.

Now he just needed to make him understand this was where he belonged.

***

They spent the next day being lazy. Lalo had never seen Nacho so relaxed. Getting his father settled seemed to have taken an enormous weight off his shoulders. It still puzzled Lalo why he had been so convinced that someone would go after him. It seemed uncharacteristically paranoid, like something Tuco would dream up.

Or maybe there had been a threat, and Nacho wasn’t telling him. But who would make that threat, and for what purpose?

It was a moot point, anyway. Papa Varga was taken care of, and now Nacho was free to turn his mind to other things. Lalo showed him around the property, casually mentioning the plot of land that he planned to build on next. He took him by the stables and the garage. Nacho was much more interested in the cars than the horses. Lalo made a mental note and amended his plans for the next day.

All he needed was the delivery of the special order he made in Saraciso. He’d been assured it would arrive no later than that evening. And sure enough, when they returned from the tour of the property, Ciro approached him.

“ _Patrón_ , a delivery came for you—”

Lalo grabbed him by the neck and yanked him aside. “Ciro, you little asshole!” he hissed. “That’s a surprise!”

“I’m sorry, _patrón!_ ” His eyes teared.

Lalo released him with a shove. “Go on, then. Make yourself useful somewhere, if that’s possible.”

Ciro slinked off. Lalo turned to find Nacho staring at him, his arms folded. “So how long have you been fucking him?”

Lalo flushed. He could deny it, but what would be the point? “He means nothing.”

Nacho snorted. “Obviously. Look, you don’t have to torture him to prove anything to me. I don’t get jealous.”

It was true. He didn’t look bothered in the slightest. Lalo shook his head. “You have issues, _amorcito_. It’s not normal to feel no possessiveness for your lover.”

“So ‘lover’ is what we’re going with, then?”

Lalo raised an eyebrow. “You disapprove?”

“It’s corny.”

“All right then—what would you call me?”

Nacho didn’t respond. He went inside without a glance backward.

Lalo chewed the inside of his cheek. He didn’t know what to make of this new interest in labels. A good sign, he decided.

It pained Lalo to wait all through dinner and into the night to check on his delivery, but he didn’t want to ruin the surprise any more than it had been already. He made love to Nacho vigorously to knock him out. Once he was asleep, Lalo went to find Ciro.

“Well?” he asked him. “Where’s the delivery?”

“In your office, _patrón_.” He cast his gaze downward. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was a surprise f-for him.”

Lalo examined him. The poor boy was miserable. Maybe Nacho was right. He patted him on the shoulder. “No harm done, I suppose.”

Ciro bit his lip. “Are you going to send me back to Don Eladio?”

“Do you want me to?”

Ciro took a moment to respond. “I like it better here.”

Lalo snorted. Unsurprising. Don Eladio was a difficult man to work for. “Then stay here. Just keep out of the way.”

“Yes, _patrón_.”

Lalo watched him thoughtfully as he left. Yes, keeping Ciro was a good idea. Nacho’s unnatural lack of jealousy opened up some interesting possibilities.

But he was getting ahead of himself. He went to his office and found the package lying on his desk. Carefully, he opened the small box. He sucked in a breath. It was perfect.

He couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

***

Lalo had Yolanda make them a picnic for the next day, his present tucked in safely under the food. He let Nacho pick a car for them to take. After some consideration, he selected the bright yellow Lamborghini Diablo.

“Feeling the need for speed, Nachito?” Lalo tossed him the keys.

Nacho caught them, and they got in the car. “So where are we headed?”

Lalo folded his hands behind his head. “Wherever you want to go, Ignacio. Just find us a nice spot.”

Nacho took them along several winding roads. Lalo loved where he lived, right at the meeting of different topographies—desert, mountains, forest. Nacho chose a winding road up the mountain to the west. They stopped when they found a quiet little spot just off the road, with a beautiful view.

Lalo got the basket while Nacho laid out the blanket. They ate in silence for a little while—a rarity for Lalo. But their little spot was so peaceful that for once, he felt at ease with the quiet. A breeze drifted over his skin. Birds chirped in the trees. The sunlight was warm and gentle. A reprieve from the chaotic maw of the drug trade.

“So,” Nacho said after a while. “When do I meet Don Eladio?”

“Next week. As luck would have it, he’s having a little party. It will be a good time to butter him up. Less intense than a private meeting.”

“Why does he need buttering up?”

Lalo shrugged. “He probably doesn’t, but it can’t hurt, yeah? He can be a bit…capricious.”

“A capricious drug lord. You don’t say.” Nacho snorted. “Assuming I make a good impression, I have some plans I thought I’d go over with him—”

Lalo waved his hand. “Later,” he said. “Let’s not ruin this day with all that.”

Nacho folded his arms. “There’s something on your mind, though.”

And now was the perfect time. In spite of himself, his stomach fluttered a little as he retrieved the gift. He handed the box to Nacho.

“A late birthday gift,” he said in answer to Nacho's questioning look. He gestured. “Go on, open it!”

Nacho pulled off the bow and opened the box. He froze. “What is this?”

“What does it look like?”

He removed the ring. The gold glinted in the sunlight. It was a beautiful piece, inlaid with a ruby. It was something he’d ordered for himself, but he asked the jeweler to resize it. He’d had to guess Nacho’s ring size, but he was confident he’d guessed correctly. He’d kissed those fingers often enough. And there was one more alteration.

“Look on the inside,” he said. “It’s engraved.”

Nacho tilted it. “ _Solamente tú._ ”

Lalo moved in closer. “ _Si, amorcito_. Only you.”

If Lalo had hoped for swooning, he would have been disappointed. Nacho remained silent, staring at it. “Do you like it?” Lalo pressed.

Nacho looked up at last. “What is this?” he asked again. “And if you say a ring, I’m going to hit you.”

Lalo held up his hands. “Most people are grateful when they receive beautiful gifts! Go on, try it on—”

“Are you, what, _proposing_?” He sounded almost angry.

“Marriage? No.” Especially not after that reaction. “But it is a proposal of a sort.”

Nacho’s eyes narrowed. “And what sort is that?”

Lalo swallowed. The ring was supposed to soften him up, not infuriate him. _Dios mío_ —and he complained about the capriciousness of drug lords! “I know you want to run Albuquerque. And I think you should. We need someone like you—steady.” He paused. “At least, until Tuco gets out.”

“And what happens when Tuco gets out?”

“We put him back in charge, and you come live with me permanently.”

Nacho’s eyebrows raised. “Live with you? Doing what?”

“Being my right-hand man, of course.” Lalo rubbed his mouth before he continued. “I work as something of a consultant to the cartel. When shit hits the fan, that’s where I come in. I identify problems and make things right. But in between, I have a lot of freedom.”

He spread his hands. “Running a territory like Albuquerque is brutal, thankless work. I know you’re ambitious, but there’s plenty of money to be had this way, too.”

Nacho said nothing for a long while. He turned the ring over and over. “Won’t people think it’s weird if I move in with you?”

“You remember that plot of land I showed you? I’ll build you a house there. You want cars? I’ll get you a dozen. Anything you want, _amorcito_ , and it will be yours. Plus, you’ll be closer to your papa!”

Still, Nacho said nothing. Sweat beaded on Lalo’s brow. He had thought he might need persuading, but his expression was so stony, so still. He couldn’t read him at all.

Lalo plucked the ring from Nacho’s grip. “This is a promise,” he said. “That what’s between us will last. If you put this on, then I am yours.” He took Nacho’s hand in his and looked into his eyes. “ _Te amo_ , Ignacio Varga.” His heart thudded. He’d never told anyone he loved them before.

It seemed like a century before Nacho responded. He took the ring from Lalo. Slowly, slowly, he slid it on his finger. It was a perfect fit.

Lalo grinned so hard he thought his face might split. He surged forward and kissed him.

Nacho kissed him back. When they parted at last, Lalo had hoped that his prince would at least smile for him, but he still looked quite serious. “What is it, _mi amor?_ ”

“What will you wear to show that I’m yours?” he murmured.

Lalo's heart soared. “I could get a ring, too. I mean—not matching, but you could pick it out.”

Nacho shook his head. “No, I’ve got it.” He removed his smaller gold chain and fastened it around Lalo’s neck. “There.”

Lalo touched the necklace, still warm from being next to Nacho’s skin. Something shifted in him. He expected to be happy, and of course he was. He’d gotten his way. Nacho was his now, truly his. But the enormity of it hit him suddenly. He’d spent his life caring for no one other than his family. Truthfully, he sometimes wondered if he was capable of it.

But here he was. The feeling was so raw it felt almost like a wound.

They kissed lazily in the sun for a long while. Part of him wanted to consummate their new promise right there, but he decided it would be more fitting to take Nacho to bed properly. He wanted to do everything right—make sure Nacho regretted nothing.

Eventually, they packed up their things and got back in the car, heading for home— _their_ home now. Lalo put a hand on Nacho’s knee as he drove. His face hurt from smiling so much.

Nacho gave Lalo one smile before his face slid back into its usual stoniness, but that was hardly unusual. His love was not an expressive man. With the life he'd led, he'd had to keep himself locked up for his own protection. But in time, he would realize he was safe—or, well, as safe as someone in their profession could be. And then one day, sometime in the future, his prince would leave that mental tower of his for good.

Once they were off the mountain, Nacho sped up. The road was straight and clear—a perfect stretch to have a little fun. Lalo thought nothing of it. But he kept going faster, and faster.

Lalo laughed a little nervously. “I think we’re going fast enough, _mi amor_.”

Nacho ignored him and sped up even more.

“Nacho,” Lalo tried again. “These roads are not in the best shape. If you want to go racing sometime, I can take you, but here is not the place.”

“You scared, Lalito?”

Lalo stared at him. Nacho’s stoniness had cracked, and he was smiling. It was not a nice smile.

The road curved up ahead. Still, Nacho did not slow down. “Ignacio! You’re going to get us killed!” He would have made a grab for the steering wheel, but that would crash them for sure. All he could do was brace himself and plead. “Ignacio, _stop_!”

At the very last minute, he turned. By some miracle, the car didn’t flip over. After coming out of the turn, Nacho returned to a saner speed.

“What the fuck was that?” Lalo asked when he found his voice.

“Sorry,” Nacho said mildly. “When you get control of something this powerful, it kind of makes you want to test the limits, you know?” He patted Lalo’s knee. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Lalo nodded shakily. He wasn’t sure why he was so rattled—it wasn’t like him.

“I mean, what’s even the point of something this powerful if you don’t use it, right?” Nacho continued. His posture was relaxed now; he drove the car with one hand. “I’ve always been a careful driver. When you grow up the way I did, you learn that you can’t afford accidents.” He laughed a little, shook his head. “But I’ve come this far, haven’t I? Maybe being careful isn’t the right play anymore.”

Lalo’s brow furrowed. What was he talking about?

“So what’s tomorrow? You want to take me racing?”

“If you’d like.”

“Yeah, why the hell not?” Nacho smiled again, a strange smile just as enigmatic as his usual stone façade. “I can do anything I want.” He quirked his eyebrow. “ _Si, amorcito_?”

Lalo nodded. He didn’t have the words to respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed your honeymoon, Lalo! Shit's about to get _wild._
> 
> A note on ages - I'm using Nacho's age as stated on the Breaking Bad wiki, but a different birthday as the one on the show was a fake ID. Lalo doesn't have a specified age. Tony Dalton is 45, but I liked the idea of Lalo reaching a milestone birthday pretty soon and being a little mid-life-crisis about it. Also, I like big age gaps. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> So I guess we need to talk about canon a little. Assume everything up through 5x03. Then, in the universe of Only You, Lalo was so busy having sex with Nacho that the rest of the plot didn't happen lol. So - Lalo didn't go to jail.  
> Nacho is still undercover, and he told Fring that Lalo was taking him to Mexico to potentially get a promotion. Fring tells him to go along with it. Fring has probably figured out by now that Nacho's dad is gone and therefore something's up, but he doesn't want to send someone out just to spy on Nacho.
> 
> He'll hear from him soon enough.
> 
> PS - Y'all are getting an extra chapter since the next one was going to be too long. The revised table of contents:
> 
> Chapter 1 - What Hath Night to Do with Sleep? (Lalo's POV)  
> Chapter 2 - It Might Have Been (Domingo's POV)  
> Chapter 3 - The Fifth Commandment (Manuel's POV)  
> Chapter 4 - Not Wisely, But Too Well (Lalo's POV)  
> Chapter 5 - Screw Your Courage to the Sticking Place (Lalo's POV)  
> Chapter 6 - Hail Infernal World (Lalo's POV)  
> Chapter 7 - Hell Is Empty (Mike's POV)  
> Chapter 8 - Myself Am Hell (Nacho's POV)
> 
> Also - come find me on Tumblr! I'm Seraphtrevs over there too. I'll be posting snippets of the rest of the chapters as I go along. 😁


	5. Screw Your Courage to the Sticking Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Afterward, they lay together in the clean, white sheets, Nacho’s head on Lalo’s chest as Lalo stroked his face. His finger brushed the snake earring he always wore. “Why a snake?” he asked._
> 
> _Nacho looked up at him and shrugged. “It looks cool.”_
> 
> _Lalo snorted. “I don’t believe it. You put thought into everything.” He sat up, bringing Nacho with him. “Come on. Tell me. I’ll keep bugging you until do, and I can be very annoying.”_
> 
> _He was hoping he’d get a smile, but Nacho turned away. “Garden of Eden. The serpent led Eve to the Tree of Knowledge, and she learned the difference between good and evil. I want to make sure I don’t forget. People justify all sorts of things to themselves. When I do bad things, I don’t want to lie to myself that I’m doing good.”_
> 
> _Lalo wasn’t sure what to say to that. He put an arm around him and kissed his temple. “Very philosophical, amorcito. Has it worked?”_
> 
> _Nacho met his gaze. “Yeah. But sometimes I wish it didn’t.”_
> 
> Nacho makes his move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to krokorobin for helping me untangle the plot knots!

_“Look like th’ innocent flower_

_But be the serpent under ’t.”_

_\- Lady Macbeth, Macbeth Act I, scene v_

Lalo loved a good party.

Say what you wanted about Don Eladio, but the man could throw a party. Lalo whistled to himself on the drive over to the hacienda. He was a little nervous, but mostly excited for Nacho’s debut. Eladio could be capricious, it was true, but Nacho had a knack for handling powerful men—deferential without being sycophantic, and not easily rattled. He’d be fine.

Just in case, though, Lalo had come up with a plan to put Eladio in the best possible mood before their introduction. It involved the loss of his latest automotive acquisition: a cherry red Ferrari 308 GTS. A small price to pay for good favor for his Nachito. And he and Nacho had given it a good send-off—Lalo had fucked him in the backseat that morning.

Lalo peeked in the rearview mirror. They had to take separate cars since they’d be delivering the Ferrari to Eladio. Lalo took the Ferrari, and Nacho followed in the Diablo. An irrational part of him worried that Nacho would suddenly change directions and speed away, leaving Lalo in the dust. Or maybe ram him from behind and send them both careening off the road.

But that was ridiculous. Where would he go?

At last, the hacienda came into sight—big and showy, built to impress. Don Eladio insisted that all his business be conducted there, like Louis XIV demanding his nobles attend him at Versailles. When he was at boarding school as a child, history was his favorite subject, especially learning about royalty. Beneath all their noble pretensions, the monarchs of history were the same as cartel kingpins, ruling through intimidation and violence. Lalo supposed that made him a prince—one of the minor ones, though. Who needed the pressures of the crown?

Nacho pulled up beside him and got out of the car. He looked good. Of course he did. Lalo had tried to talk him into wearing a black polo with a subtle floral print to coordinate with Lalo’s own flowery buttondown, but Nacho had rejected it. _It doesn’t even fit me_ , he complained. _It’s too tight_.

As if anything could be too tight on him. He liked the idea of everyone staring at Nacho’s muscular arms, his broad chest. Really show him off.

But his choice looked good too—a black shirt with a diamond pattern, like little silver knives stitched into the fabric. And while he had rejected a tight shirt, his jeans were practically molded to him. Lalo itched to run a hand over his ass, but even he wasn’t foolhardy enough to try that here. Instead, he touched the necklace Nacho had given him. He wore it under his shirt so he could feel it on his skin.

Nacho saw him and caught his eye. He ran his thumb over the red jewel of his ring and gave Lalo a sultry look.

 _Dios mío._ It was a good thing they’d already fucked. Lalo wasn’t sure he’d make it through the party otherwise.

Lalo touched him on the arm, not quite able to keep his hands off of him. “You stay here. I’ll bring Don Eladio down in a minute. Remember—you call him don. He asks you a question, you tell him the truth in the fewest words you can.”

Nacho rolled his eyes. “ _Si, papa_.”

Lalo laughed, but sobered quickly. “You need to take this seriously.”

“I take everything seriously.” He brushed Lalo’s shoulder like he was flicking off some lint, but his fingers touched the necklace. “I’ll be fine.”

Lalo glanced around to be sure no one was looking, then quickly brought Nacho’s hand to his lips and gave the ring a brief kiss.

He ascended to the hacienda, where the party was in full swing. Lalo made the rounds, making sure to greet everyone. It did him good to see his people. Albuquerque had been such a tedious slog—it was good to be back where he belonged.

At last, he came to Don Eladio. Annoyingly, Juan Bolsa was there as well.

Don Eladio’s whole face brightened when he caught sight of Lalo. “Look who it is, look who it is!” he said, beaming, his arms outstretched.

Lalo went in for the hug. He’d always been a favorite with Eladio. Lalo was a favorite with a lot of people. They laughed and patted each other on the back.

He turned next to shake Bolsa’s hand. “Good to see you back home, Lalo,” Bolsa said, his expression pinched. “You set fire to any businesses on the way home?”

 _Cabrón._ But Lalo didn’t let his smile slip even a little.

“A fire?” Don Eladio raised his eyebrows. “What’s that about?”

Lalo waved dismissively. “Eh, you know how it is. People not cooperating. I get impatient!”

For a heartbeat, Lalo wasn’t sure how Eladio would respond, but then he threw his head back and roared with laughter. “Yes, I know, you crazy bastard! You be careful in the States, though—those gringos have no sense of humor.”

“Of course, don,” Lalo said, holding up his hands to show he felt properly chastised.

Eladio gestured to the neatly wrapped piles of cash on the table in front of them. “This is what Bolsa brought me from Fring. What do you think?”

This was Eladio’s game—playing everyone off one another. The only way to win was not to engage. “Excellent!” he said with enthusiasm. He gave Bolsa a thumbs up and a big grin. Bolsa expression got even more pinched.

Eladio pursed his lips. “A little less than usual, I think.”

“We had some bad luck,” Bolsa said quickly. “But Gustavo assures me it is over.”

Eladio’s face fell. “Luck?” he said.

Normally, Lalo would be happy to encourage Eladio’s annoyance with Bolsa, especially since his and Fring’s bad “luck” was Lalo’s doing. But he wanted Eladio in a good mood for Nacho. He pulled out the key to the Ferrari. “Hey, by the way, I found this key, but I don't know if it’s yours.”

Eladio frowned. “I don’t think so.”

Lalo shrugged. “Weird.” He tossed Eladio the key. “Why don’t we see what it opens up?”

A smile crept over Eladio’s face as he realized a game was afoot. He slapped Bolsa on the arm. “What do you say? Let’s go find out!”

Bolsa smiled and nodded, but the moment Eladio’s back was turned, he glared at Lalo. Lalo gave him a smile with plenty of teeth in return.

They went to where the car was parked. Lalo met Nacho’s gaze briefly and winked—he stood back and to the side, out of the way for now just as they had talked about. As soon as Eladio laid eyes on the Ferrari, he practically dissolved into a puddle of joy. He draped himself over the car. “Like Magnum PI!” he crooned. “Such a beautiful baby. So smooth!” He gave Bolsa a needling look. “Right, Bolsa?”

“Yes,” Bolsa said. He wasn’t as good at feigning enthusiasm as Lalo was. “Very smooth.”

“Maybe there’s something in the trunk?” Lalo suggested with a casual shrug. When Eladio went to move to the back, he stopped him. “Trunk is in the front in this model.”

Eladio lit up with even more delight. “A frunk!” He laughed as he popped the lid and saw the present Lalo had put there. “A gift?” He opened it, revealing the money, and crowed with glee. He pointed to Lalo. “This is the _man_! Right, Bolsa? Showmanship!”

Bolsa didn’t even bother to fake a smile.

Lalo met Nacho’s gaze and waved him over. “Don Eladio, allow me to introduce you to Ignacio Varga.”

“Oh yes,” Eladio said. “The protégé you were telling me about!” He held out a hand to Nacho. “Lalo says a lot of good things about you!”

“Thank you, Don Eladio. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Eladio slung an arm around Nacho’s shoulders. “Come, let’s get to know each other a little better.”

Nacho met Lalo’s gaze briefly. Lalo nodded—much as he wanted to go with them, Nacho was on his own for now.

Lalo followed them back to the pool, hanging back just far enough not to be in the way. Don Eladio had Nacho sit with him, poured them drinks. He couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying, but Nacho was responding with his usual seriousness. Confident without bragging. Respectful, but not simpering. Ignacio really was something. Lalo had every confidence that Nacho could pull it off.

At last, they shook hands, and Eladio waved Lalo over.

“He’s got a good head on his shoulders,” Eladio said, putting an arm around Nacho. “Sensible. You Salamancas need that, I think.” He pulled Lalo in, too, and gave them both a squeeze before releasing them. “Now go! Enjoy the party!”

“So what did he say?” Lalo said lowly once Eladio had moved on.

“I’m in charge of Albuquerque.”

Lalo laughed. “You did well, Nachito!”

Nacho quirked an eyebrow. “You sound surprised. Don’t you have any faith in me?”

He was about to answer when someone howled like a wolf from across the pool deck. Lalo turned to the noise and started laughing when he spotted the howler—a heavily-tattooed and snazzily-dressed man with slicked-back black hair and an eyepatch. “Cesar!”

His old friend howled again. “Lalo el Lobo! Get over here, man!”

Lalo put a hand on Nacho’s shoulder. “Come, meet my friend!”

By the time they reached the other side of the pool, Cesar’s wife Veronica had emerged from the house, fluffing her enormous blonde hair with one hand and holding a baby on her hip with the other. While Lalo and Cesar embraced each other, a girl and a boy dressed in swimsuits streaked out from behind her and ran over to Don Eladio.

“Nacho, this is my good friend Cesar Bravo,” Lalo said. “He runs the Michoacán plaza.”

Cesar grabbed Nacho’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “Nice to meet you, bro.”

Nacho accepted the handshake with a nod, but he turned around to look over his shoulder at the children. Don Eladio picked up the little girl and spun her around, and then gave both of the children something out of his pocket.

Lalo cleared his throat and nudged Nacho. “And his beautiful wife, Veronica.”

Veronica held out a well-manicured hand. “So good to meet you—Nacho, was it?”

Lalo peered at the baby—a boy, nice and fat and about four months old. “And this must be, what, a little nephew you are babysitting?”

Veronica cocked her head. “No, this is our son.”

Lalo feigned shock. “But look at your perfect figure! No, it is impossible that you just had a baby!” It wasn’t a lie—she did look good.

Veronica swatted him. “You old flatterer. How is your mother?”

“Wonderful! You should pay her a visit—she would love to get her hands on this little guy.” He wiggled one of the baby’s fingers and was rewarded with a giggle. “Can I?”

Veronica handed over the baby. Lalo gave him a little cuddle—he loved babies. “And what is his name?”

Cesar and Veronica both got serious. “Diego,” Veronica said.

Lalo shut his eyes. “Of course. For his uncle.”

“Whose death did not go unavenged,” Cesar said. “Thanks to you.”

Lalo shrugged modestly. “It was nothing.”

“Nothing?” Cesar turned to Nacho. “He says it was nothing. When those filthy pigs from the Sinaloa cartel murdered my brother, it was Lalo the Wolf who got me my pound of flesh.”

“More than a pound,” Veronica said. She turned to her husband. “How much does a human head weigh?”

“I don’t know—ten pounds, maybe?” Cesar said.

Veronica smirked and met Nacho’s gaze. “He got us fifty pounds of flesh, then.”

Lalo laughed, which made the baby giggle. He gestured towards the party. “Come on, let’s sit.”

They found a table. Lalo sat with baby Diego while his parents got refreshments. Nacho’s eyes remained on the kids, who were splashing around in the pool, shooting each other with water pistols—presents from Don Eladio. With the way he was looking at them, it was like Nacho had never seen a human child before.

“What’s wrong?” Lalo asked.

“What are kids doing at a cartel party?”

Lalo furrowed his brow. “It’s a party, not a drug deal. Why shouldn’t there be kids?” Baby Diego waved his chubby little arms as if in agreement.

Nacho eyed the baby warily. “It just doesn’t seem right.”

“Hey, I grew up going to these parties, and I turned out great!”

Nacho didn’t have a response to that.

Cesar and Veronica returned. “Careful, Lalo,” Veronica said. “You look that happy with a baby in your lap, and your sister and I are going to start looking for a wife for you again.”

Lalo returned Diego to his mother. “Don’t you start! I’m happy as a bachelor.”

Cesar laughed. “That’s my man—the lone wolf!” He held out his hand for a fist bump, which Lalo returned.

Cesar turned to Nacho. “So, you from America?”

“Yes,” Lalo answered for him. “He’s our new man in the north. In charge of operations for Albuquerque.”

Cesar looked surprised. “Not a Salamanca?”

“He’s done well for our family. Practically a Salamanca.” He put a hand on Nacho’s shoulder. “Actually, once Tuco gets out of prison, Nacho is going to come work for me. Be my partner.”

Veronica looked back and forth between the two of them. “Your partner?”

Lalo let his hand drop and coughed. “Yeah. You plazas get into a lot of trouble—I have a hard time keeping up!”

“You’re going to run out of Salamancas eventually,” Veronica said. “There’s a way you can fix that, you know. For the next generation.”

Lalo groaned and stood. “Come on, Nacho—before Veronica starts listing eligible young women. We’ve got other people to meet.”

Both Cesar and Veronica laughed. “Nice to meet you, Nacho. You should come over sometime, see how we do things in Michoacán.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” Nacho said, and actually smiled.

Lalo looked at him in surprise. Did he mean it? They’d have to talk about it later.

Lalo took Nacho on the rounds, introducing him. Nacho seemed to shake off some of his seriousness, seeming interested in who they were and what they did. No one would accuse him of being a social butterfly, but he was more engaged than Lalo had ever seen him.

At last, the party ended. They got into the Diablo—Lalo let Nacho drive, thankful that whatever strange mood that struck him the other day seemed to have passed.

“So,” Nacho said. “Lalo el Lobo, huh? You carry out a lot of beheadings?”

Lalo laughed. “It’s not usually quite that violent, but you know, I do what I have to.”

“I talked to Cesar again,” Nacho said. “Before we left. We’re going to visit him when they get home next week.”

Lalo stared at him. “We are?”

“Yeah. I want to visit all the plazas.”

“Why?”

“If you’re serious about making me your partner, then I need to know the ins and outs of the operation.” Nacho glanced at him. “You are serious, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am,” Lalo said quickly. “I just didn’t think you’d be so quick to get on it. Not when you have another two years in Albuquerque.”

Nacho shrugged. “Already down here—might as well make use of the time.” He gave Lalo another look. “You’re really popular. Everyone seems to like you. Like, genuinely like you, not just kissing up to you.”

Lalo waved dismissively. “I solve their problems. Of course they like me. And not _everyone_ likes me. Bolsa doesn’t. And there’s a certain Chilean that seems especially immune to my charms.”

Nacho looked thoughtful. “What’s Fring’s story? There bad blood between your family and him beyond just rivalry?”

Lalo chuckled. “You could say that.”

“Care to elaborate?”

Where to begin? “It was about fifteen years ago, give or take. Fring was an outsider, but he wanted in the cartel. He and his partner came up with this scheme to give their meth to Don Eladio’s men without his knowledge or permission. It was to manipulate him into a meeting.” Lalo laughed and shook his head. “Crazy bastards. They got their meeting, all right. And Don Eladio had Tio Hector kill Fring’s partner to teach him a lesson about respect.”

“Hector _murdered_ his partner?”

“Yeah. And get this—they weren’t just business partners. No, Max was Fring’s lover. Everyone knew. So you see why I have trouble believing that Fring wants to play nice.” Lalo scratched his chin. “What I don’t get is why he saved Tio’s life. When he had his stroke, he could have just let him die. But you say he jumped in, performed CPR—my tio would be dead if not for him. Why would he do that, if he hates him so much?”

Nacho didn’t respond for several minutes. “Because he wants to kill him himself,” he said slowly. “On his terms.”

Lalo started. “You really think that’s it?”

“Yeah. I mean, nothing else makes sense. And he seems like the type,” he added, almost under his breath.

Lalo frowned. “How would you know? You have a lot of interaction with him?”

Nacho shrugged. “Just a hunch. He gives off a weird vibe.”

It was plausible. “You think my tio is in danger right now?”

“He’s waited this long. And he’s probably enjoying seeing him disabled like he is.”

Lalo’s hands curled into fists as he thought about Tio in that horrible nursing home, confined to a wheelchair, unable to speak... “ _¡Hijo de la chingada!_ I bet you’re right.” He hit the dashboard. “He plays it well, though—makes too much money for the cartel. The cartel’s got a lot of mouths to feed—truth be told, we’ve had a lot of setbacks recently. Fring is making himself invaluable. Besides, Eladio won’t take any accusations against him seriously—there’s nothing he likes more than having everyone at each other’s throats.”

“Probably not,” Nacho said. “If I’m right, though, Fring’s got plans for Eladio, too.”

It was a good point. “When we get back to Albuquerque, it’s full-scale war. We crush him. And we’ll start by figuring out what the fuck he’s been up to.” Lalo felt a little guilty—his attention should have been more on defending his family’s interests, but he’d been…distracted.

But he couldn’t feel too bad about it. He put a hand on his distraction’s thigh. Business could wait. First, they had some celebrating to do.

***

Lalo loved Mexican summers. The heat was too much for some people, but never him. Besides, monsoon rains tempered the worst of it, drenching the afternoons and leaving the evening air cool and fresh. As a child, Lalo loved to run out in the rain, much to his mother’s annoyance. He relished the cracks of lightning, the relentless downpour. His clothes would stick to his hot skin, cooling him, soothing him. He’d turn his face to the sky and laugh as his mother shouted at him to come inside.

And the rain brought the countryside to life. Beautiful tropical colors bloomed everywhere—emerald greens, sunny yellows, fiery reds and oranges. The air smelled like life itself. There could be no other country on Earth as beautiful.

And now, he got to share it with Nacho. They went on the tour of the plazas, as he requested. Everywhere, they were greeted with open arms. Nacho was right—he was well-liked, and it was nice to visit when there wasn’t some disaster it was up to him to fix. Nacho spent hours with the leaders, asking questions, having them take him through their operations. He was serious about this.

Of course he was. He was serious about everything, as he said. All the same, it made him happy to see that Nacho was committed.

Although sometimes Lalo thought he was a little too serious. Not that there was much room for romance, since they stayed with their hosts more often than not. But even when they got a hotel room, Nacho remained focused on business, making phone calls, reading through the little notebook he carried around, where he meticulously recorded not only notes on operations but also gossip and grievances. Lalo couldn’t believe he was thinking this, but he’d be happy when they were back in Albuquerque. Get away from the heart of the cartel for a little.

It took a month to make the full rounds. Lalo tried to work in a visit to his mother and sisters, but Nacho demurred. It was probably for the best - Lalo loved his mother, but she was a lot to handle. Best to wait until Nacho was more settled down. They had the rest of their lives, after all. That thought warmed him.

At last, it was time to go home. Lalo booked them a room at a luxury resort for one last hurrah in an attempt to get Nacho to relax. To his delight, it worked. Nacho got a massage and then knocked out at 8pm. It would have been more fun if he were awake, but he clearly needed the rest.

Nacho was still asleep at 9am the next morning, so Lalo ventured out to get breakfast. When he returned, Nacho was out on their expansive patio, talking on the phone. He set the breakfast on the table and pushed the glass door open quietly. Whoever he was talking to, it had him so worked up that he didn’t seem to notice. Lalo leaned in to listen.

“—is happening whether you like it or not. I’m giving you a chance to be a part of it.” Pause. “Trust me, I’m handling him. You don’t have to worry on that front.” He rubbed his forehead. “Look—you aren’t going to have a better opportunity. How long did you plan to draw this out? Another decade or two?” His tone shifted. “Are you always this afraid to get what you want?” Mocking. Darkly playful.

Whatever the other person said made Nacho smirk. “All right, then.” He shut the phone.

Lalo stepped out onto the patio fully. “Who was that?”

Nacho froze for a moment, but he thawed quickly. “Some asshole Cesar’s been having a hard time with. I straightened him out.” He crossed the patio and put his arms around Lalo’s neck. “But that’s enough business. I promised myself this last day would be just you and me.” He stretched up to kiss him.

Lalo put his arms around him and returned the kiss. He wasn’t about to argue with that. “I’ve got breakfast.”

“Bring it out here. It’s a nice day.”

They enjoyed their pastries and coffee in the sunshine. Lalo gazed at him, all bronzed in the sunlight. He was wearing a fluffy white resort robe, and probably not much else. It reminded him of their first night together: Nacho in his kitchen, fresh from the shower in Lalo’s robe, looking delectable—and reluctant. More than reluctant, if he were honest with himself.

Some odd feeling churned in his stomach. “Are you happy?” he blurted out.

Nacho seemed surprised. “Yeah. Got a good night’s sleep for once, and it’s a nice day—”

Lalo shook his head. “No, I mean happy with me. With us.”

Silence. “Why are you asking?”

Lalo shrugged. “I don’t know.”

More silence, then Nacho stood and came to the other side of the table. He leaned down and kissed him, then took his hand and pulled him to his feet. He kissed him again. “Take me to bed,” he murmured when they parted.

As if Lalo could refuse.

Afterward, they lay together in the clean, white sheets, Nacho’s head on Lalo’s chest as Lalo stroked his face. His finger brushed the snake earring he always wore. “Why a snake?” he asked.

Nacho looked up at him and shrugged. “It looks cool.”

Lalo snorted. “I don’t believe it. You put thought into everything.” He sat up, bringing Nacho with him. “Come on. Tell me. I’ll keep bugging you until do, and I can be very annoying.”

He was hoping he’d get a smile, but Nacho turned away. “Garden of Eden. The serpent led Eve to the Tree of Knowledge, and she learned the difference between good and evil. I want to make sure I don’t forget. People justify all sorts of things to themselves. When I do bad things, I don’t want to lie to myself that I’m doing good.”

Lalo wasn’t sure what to say to that. He put an arm around him and kissed his temple. “Very philosophical, _amorcito_. Has it worked?”

Nacho met his gaze. “Yeah. But sometimes I wish it didn’t.”

***

Home. Lalo breathed a sigh of relief as they crossed through the gates. He and Nacho had agreed to stay for two more weeks before heading back to the US. It was his birthday next week, and all he wanted was Nachito in his bed, free of distractions.

But Nacho was determined to spoil his plans. “We should invite Don Eladio to celebrate your birthday,” he said over dinner—Yolanda’s delicious beef tamales.

“No,” Lalo said firmly. “I have had enough business. Besides, Eladio conducts business only from his hacienda—it’s a power trip thing.”

“But this isn’t business. It’s your birthday. You aren’t a random underling, Lalo. With your uncle out of commission, you represent the Salamanca family. There wouldn’t be a cartel without ‘Salamanca muscle,’ right? That’s what Don Hector always said.”

Lalo threw his hands up. “What does that have to do with having him over for my birthday?”

“It will get him out of his comfort zone and shift his perspective. It will be good for our interests.”

“No. He’s exhausting and I have had enough of business,” he said firmly. He returned his attention to his meal. “Besides, he’d never agree to it.”

Nacho folded his arms. “I already invited him. He’ll be here next Friday.”

Lalo dropped his fork. “You _what?_ ” Anger spiked in him. “Without my permission?”

Nacho met his gaze coolly, his face stone. “You want me to cancel? I’m sure he wouldn’t take offense.”

Lalo’s hands balled into fists, because of course Eladio would take offense. The invitation had been made—it couldn’t be unmade. Lalo stood and walked over to Nacho, towering over him. “I am not pleased with this, Ignacio.”

Nacho’s expression remained impassive. “What are you going to do about it?”

Lalo blinked. What could he do? Hit him? Whatever power he had over him had evaporated, almost without him noticing. He stood there for an impotent moment, and then stalked outside and to the garage. Only hours before he had been glad to be home. Now he couldn’t stand to stay.

He drove around the countryside for several hours. Slowly, his temper cooled. He supposed no harm had been done. Having Don Eladio as a guest would be annoying, but maybe Nacho had a point. More respect from Don Eladio could be useful. He loved his tio, but Hector had always been bad at politics. He just wished Nacho would have run it by him first.

It was midnight when he returned. He wondered if Nacho would be asleep, but he was up, sitting outside by the fire pit, a glass of scotch in one hand. Lalo joined him.

“Enjoy your drive?” Nacho asked.

Lalo poured himself a glass. “Yes.” His throat burned as he downed his drink. He poured another. “Eladio will expect to be entertained. I hope you have plans.”

“Don’t worried. I’ve got it covered.” Nacho set his drink down and straddled Lalo’s lap. “Anything I can do to make it up to you?”

They kissed. Lalo’s cock hardened as Nacho’s ass rubbed against him. The last of his annoyance dissolved. “You have too much ambition, _amorcito,_ ” he murmured when they broke apart. “You may think you want more power, but it brings only trouble.”

Nacho’s only response was to stand up and take Lalo’s hand. “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of talking.”

Lalo chuckled and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. “That we can agree on, _mi amor_.”

***

Nacho didn’t bring up business once the entire rest of the week. He also remained mum on the birthday plans, saying it would be a surprise. Eladio was planning to stay a few days, so the staff busied themselves with airing out the guest house and giving the villa a thorough cleaning. An excited buzz came over them all, and even Lalo had to admit he was getting into the spirit of things. Maybe it would turn out to be a good time after all.

The only person who didn't seem excited was Ciro. He seemed miserably nervous. Had life with Don Eladio really been that terrible? He looked so upset that one day, Lalo took him aside. "I'm not sending you back to him, if that's what you're worried about."

Ciro's eyelashes fluttered as he lowered his gaze. "I know, patrón. It's just..." He trailed off.

"Just what?" Lalo asked gruffly.

Ciro looked as if he wanted to say something, but he bit his lip. "Nothing, patrón." He slunk off. Lalo let him. Who knew what went on in that boy's empty head?

At last, the day arrived. Lalo, Nacho and the staff stood in front of the villa as Don Eladio and his entourage drove through the gate. Bringing up the rear was a horse trailer.

Don Eladio emerged from his car, his arms open and a huge smile on his face. “Come here, birthday boy!” Lalo embraced him and laughed as they patted each other on the back.

“Good to have you, Don Eladio!” Lalo said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster—which was quite a lot, actually. Lalo never lacked for enthusiasm.

“So how old are you now?” Eladio asked.

“Forty-nine.”

“Not a birthday boy then—a birthday old man, yeah?” He laughed and jabbed Lalo in the side. He turned next to Nacho and opened his arms. “And Nachito—so good to see you again!”

 _Nachito?_ It seemed Nacho’s introduction had gone even better than Lalo had realized.

“So good of you to invite me," Eladio continued. "You’re right—a weekend in the country is exactly what I need right now. Let all those assholes and sycophants deal with their own problems for a few days, eh?”

Nacho inclined his head. “It’s our pleasure, Don Eladio.”

“Come, come!” Eladio said, gesturing as he made his way to the horse trailer. “I have a gift for you!”

The gift was a majestic black stallion. “This is Mephistopheles,” Eladio said. “Nacho tells me you have a stable.”

“I do!” Lalo said. He touched the horse’s nose. He exhaled and blinked at him with large, black eyes. “Don Eladio, he’s beautiful. This is too much!”

Eladio waved his hand dismissively. “Ah, it’s nothing!” He clapped and turned to the villa. “Such a cute little place you have here! Why don’t you show me around?”

Some of Lalo’s staff took care of the horse while others showed the men Eladio had brought with him to the servant’s quarters in the back of the property. Lalo caught a glance of Ciro as he struggled with Eladio's luggage. He looked like he was about to throw up. What was with that boy?

But Lalo had better things to worry about. They had to make sure Eladio had a good time. He hoped Nacho knew what he was doing. He looked over at his _amorcito_ , who was amiably enduring Eladio’s chatter. Lalo relaxed a little. Of course Nacho had a plan. He always did.

***

They spent the afternoon showing Don Eladio around. He especially loved the garage and made several hints about which cars he would love to drive. Lalo sighed inwardly. He had a feeling he was ending the weekend with one less car. Afterward, they played billiards and drank—Nacho was always nearby to top off Eladio's drink. Getting him drunk? No, he was just being a good host. Give him nothing to complain. Besides, Eladio was a happy drunk, and maybe he’d go to bed early.

Yolanda served _posole rojo_ for dinner. The broth was rich and flavorful, and the pork was so tender it practically melted in his mouth. Lalo had hired a girl for the week to help Yolanda out, which she seemed to appreciate. Don Eladio appreciated her, too, pulling her into his lap at one point while she served them.

“Now this is hospitality!” he said, running his hand over her thigh. Her face flushed as she held herself still—she radiated misery. “Got any more of these around?”

Nacho’s mouth had thinned in displeasure, but his tone was mild. “Party is tomorrow, Don. You might want to save your energy.”

Eladio laughed and released the girl, giving her a pat on the ass as she ran off to the kitchen. “A party, eh? I thought this was going to be a relaxing country visit.”

Lalo shot Nacho a look. “It’s news to me, too. Who did you invite?”

“Not too many people. Just a few special guests.”

“Anyone I know?” Eladio asked.

Nacho put a finger to his mouth. “I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

Eladio clapped. “A surprise! Wonderful—I love surprises.”

Dinner finished, and they moved out to the patio for more drinks. Night had fallen. There was no moon, but the stars still sparkled, and the night air was cool and clear. Two of Eladio’s men had joined Lalo’s patrol, keeping watch for any threats. Even when relaxing, drug lords must always remain vigilant. Lalo started a fire in the pit, and soon they were bathed in a warm glow.

“I feel so relaxed!” Eladio said as Nacho poured them all some scotch. Eladio sloshed his drink. “I should do this more often.”

Lalo grit his teeth. “You are always welcome here, of course.”

Eladio let out a pleased hum and raised his glass. “To hospitality!” He waved his glass in Nacho’s direction. “And to new blood. God knows it’s been too long since we brought in anyone of quality.”

They drank. Eladio settled back in his chair and turned to Lalo. “You know the moment that I knew I liked him? When he told me what he wanted. You know what that it?”

Lalo looked at Nacho. The light from the fire flickered across his red shirt, making it look like he was being licked by flames, and his earring glinted. Even his eyes glowed, the fire bringing out the tawny undertones of his eyes.

“No,” Lalo said, and realized it was true. He had no idea what Nacho wanted. He’d never thought to ask.

“Respect,” Eladio said with relish. He tapped his lips. “What else was it? Ah yes, to make his own decisions.” Eladio reached over and tapped Nacho on the head, laughing. "He’s got a good head, yeah? Lots of deep thoughts.”

Nacho’s eyes flashed in annoyance, but his tone didn’t show it. “Thank you, Don.”

Eladio drank more and waved his hand. “There was one more thing—what was it?” He snapped his fingers and laughed again. “Oh yes! To not have to look over his shoulder. I told him he was in the wrong business for that, but that means he’s serious about the respect thing.” Eladio sat forward, his words slurring. “You see, a man who tells you he wants money is only telling you that he’ll leave the minute he gets a better offer, or when he thinks he can rob you. A man who says he wants power is telling you he’s gunning for your throne. But a man who wants respect? There’s a man you can trust!”

Movement from the back gate caught Lalo’s eye—the gate that should have been locked. He was on his feet before he fully processed it. All of a sudden, the night exploded in gunfire. Eladio hit the ground with a cry. But after the initial blast, the assassins brushed right past them and stormed the house.

Lalo’s brow furrowed in confusion. More gunshots, screams. Lalo almost laughed—someone sent assassins for him, and they run right past him? But that wasn’t completely true—two men lingered at the gate, their guns drawn but not firing. None of this made sense.

“We need weapons,” Lalo said lowly as Eladio got to his feet. “I’ll distract them. Nacho, go in the house—”

But when he turned to Nacho, he saw he already had a gun.

And he was pointing it at him.

Their eyes met for one brief moment, and then Nacho pulled the trigger. The blast hit Lalo in the shoulder—he fell backward into his chair, too shocked to cry out. He felt the wetness of his blood before the pain, soaking his shirt. Absurdly, his mind flashed back to when he was a child, running out into those monsoon rains, his wet clothes sticking to him. Why did he run out into storms? What a foolish child he’d been.

Nacho had turned his gun on Eladio, shooting him in the knee. Eladio screamed in pain and grabbed his knee, as if he could hold it together. But from that range, it must be shattered.

Lalo had the suspicion he wouldn’t live long enough to give him problems.

Nacho shot him in the other leg for good measure, and then made his way toward Lalo, his gun pointed right at him. Perhaps if it had been someone else, Lalo would have taken the risk and tried to rush him. In his experience, even armed men’s courage failed them when confronted with someone like Lalo coming right for them.

But it was his _amorcito_. And so he was helpless.

“Stay down,” Nacho said. His expression was stone. “I don’t want to shoot you again, but I will.”

So he wouldn’t die tonight. That should have been a consolation.

It wasn't.

From the back gate, a figure in a suit emerged from the shadows and floated towards them like an apparition. Lalo couldn't make out who it was until he stepped into the light of the fire.

Gustavo Fring.

Lalo blinked his eyes several times, hoping he was hallucinating, but no, the Chilean remained. He didn’t smile, but Lalo could feel joy emanating from him—not warm like joy usually was, but cold as a winter wind.

“You!” Eladio gasped. “What are you doing here?”

Fring ignored him and inclined his head to Nacho. “You kept your word. I had wondered if you would get cold feet.”

“Why would I? This was my idea.” Nacho nodded toward Eladio. “Delivered as promised. Have fun.”

Fring smiled. “Oh, I plan to.”

“I kept my word,” Nacho said. “So are you going to keep yours?”

Fring nodded and waved at the door. Another figure emerged—a portly, middle-aged man with a beard. In one hand he carried a doctor’s bag. “The doctor is at your disposal,” he said. “Although I’ll need his help with the don here. I want to make sure he is in good enough shape to fully enjoy the weekend.”

Eladio bellowed in rage and made as if to get up and attack, but with both of his kneecaps blasted, he didn’t have a chance to defend himself. The two men who had been at the gate swooped forward and grabbed him by the arms.

“There’s a guest house in that direction,” Nacho said, gesturing with his head.

“An excellent suggestion. Thank you, Mr. Varga.” With a nod to his men, Fring headed for the guest house. His men dragged a screaming Eladio with them.

Lalo started when he felt a hand on his shoulder. The doctor was sitting beside him—he had been so focused on Nacho and Fring that he hadn’t noticed.

“Clean shot,” the doctor said. “Bullet went right through him. Shouldn’t be a problem to patch up. Do you think you can walk?”

Lalo glanced up at Nacho, who still held the weapon on him. He turned back to the doctor and nodded.

The doctor stood and held out his hand. “Here, I’ll help.” He sounded almost kind. Once Lalo was on his feet, the doctor slung Lalo’s arm over his shoulder so that Lalo could lean on him for support.

Nacho followed them into the house. The place was trashed—glass shattered, bullet holes in the walls. Bodies lay strew on the floor—one of Fring’s men, one of Don Eladio’s, and Miguel.

Miguel struggled to his feet when he saw them—not dead apparently. “Patrón!” he cried out. Nacho shot him in the head, and he fell dead to the floor. Lalo had no special attachment to him, but it was still shocking to see Nacho kill him in cold blood. He clearly wasn’t a threat. Getting rid of witnesses, maybe?

“His room is this way,” Nacho said.

“Not my room,” Lalo said, somewhat surprised to find his voice. “No blood on my bed.”

“Fine, one of the guest rooms, then.”

“How about yours?” Lalo snarled. The shock was starting to wear off, giving over into anger. “Let me lay in the bed you made!”

Nacho met his gaze. Lalo searched him for some sort of feeling. He’d even welcome a smirk of triumph—just some way for him to tell what Nacho was feeling. But he was met only with stone.

He turned to the doctor. “There’s a room down the hall here, to the left.”

It wasn’t Nacho’s room, but another guest room. The bed was made neatly with a white bedspread. It didn’t stay white for long as the doctor eased Lalo onto it.

The doctor opened his bag and pulled out various tools of his trade, including a needle. “A local anesthetic,” he said, injecting him in the shoulder. Instantly, the pain numbed. He took out another needle. “Also for the pain.”

Lalo shook his head. “No, no drugs.”

The doctor turned to Nacho, a question on his face.

Nacho nodded. “Give it to him.”

Lalo surged forward to fight, but the needle was already in his arm. A wave of calm washed over him as his vision went soft around the edges.

He stared dully off into space as the doctor finished working on him. When the doctor left, Nacho snapped a handcuff around the wrist of his uninjured arm and secured it to the bedframe. He tested it with a few tugs to make sure it was secure. Once he was satisfied, he finally put the gun down. He sat down beside Lalo on the bed, his expression still inscrutable.

“What did he offer you?” Lalo asked. There wasn’t any anger in his words—he felt too fuzzy for anger.

“Nothing. This was my deal to him. I was right—he wanted revenge.”

“So what did you get in return?”

Nacho took a moment before answering. “Control.”

Lalo tried to puzzle it out, but he couldn’t think. “I don’t understand.”

“Fring doesn’t have any desire to take over the cartel,” Nacho explained. “He said he’d be happy to continue his business as normal, leaving you in charge of cartel operations.”

Lalo blinked. “Me?”

“Well, you’ll be the face, anyway.”

Even drugged, Lalo could figure it out. “But really, only you.”

Nacho didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

“Why not just kill me?” Lalo asked. “Take over yourself?”

“You think the cartel is going just roll over for some no-name underling like me? No, they’ll want a real king, and you’re a Salamanca—cartel royalty. Like I said, people like you. I made sure of that when we did our tour of the plazas. They’ll have no problems accepting you.”

“Not if they think I had Don Eladio murdered.”

“But you didn’t,” Nacho said. “Juan Bolsa did.”

Lalo furrowed his brow. “What?”

“Fring set him up. Everyone is going to think he’s the one who sent the assassins here, to kill you and Eladio.” Nacho brushed his wounded shoulder. “Had to make it look real. Trust me, it could be worse.” He laughed a little, although Lalo couldn’t see the joke. “Anyway, Fring’s men are working on getting a ‘confession’ out of him right now. Bolsa isn’t popular. People will believe it.”

“And if I refuse to go along with this?”

“You won’t. Either you agree with the version of events I tell you, or word gets out that you killed Eladio. You’re right—the others wouldn’t stand for it if they thought you betrayed him. Not when he’s treated you so generously. It will be seen as especially treacherous since you invited him into your home to spring your trap. No one will trust you again.”

“And with Bolsa and Eladio dead, you have consolidated your power,” Lalo finished for him. He laughed weakly. “Seems you thought of everything. Except how are you going to keep me compliant? Don Lalo can have his man Nacho disposed of and no one will blink an eye.”

Nacho looked directly into Lalo’s eyes. “You won’t,” he said again quietly. His face was still stone, but his eyes were like windows, and he could see his prince there, gazing at him from his tower—

Or was it a trick? Who was Nacho? Had Lalo ever really known him at all? “How can you be so sure?”

Nacho didn’t answer. Slowly, he leaned in and captured Lalo’s lips in a kiss. He pulled back and met his gaze again. How often had they gazed into each other’s eyes in the past few months? How had Lalo thought that he knew their depths? Nacho’s eyes were fathomless.

Lalo blinked, sending tears coursing down his cheeks. Nacho wiped them away with a few brushes of his thumb. He kissed his forehead and stood. “Get some rest. It's going to be a long week.”

When he was gone, Lalo tugged at his handcuff half-heartedly, but between the blood loss and the drugs, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Besides, even if he could escape—where would he go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't feel too bad for Lalo. He kinda had it coming.
> 
> Next up - a coronation, a renegotiation, and the good boys come to town.


	6. Taming Tigers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nacho took a long drink. “Let’s say you live in a village in the jungle somewhere, and there’s a man-eating tiger on the loose. It’s not really the tiger’s fault—it’s just doing what it’s in its nature to do. But you can’t let it eat you, either. So what do you do?”_
> 
> _Ciro swallowed. “Kill it?”_
> 
> _“That’s an option,” Nacho agreed. “But what if you could tame it?”_
> 
> _Ciro looked skeptical. “How do you tame a tiger?”_
> 
> _“Carefully.” Nacho finished his drink and took the bottle to the trash. “Try to get some sleep.”_
> 
> Nacho tames two tigers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A self-indulgent little interlude with Nacho, and then we're back to the plot!

Nacho couldn’t sleep.

He tossed and turned in his bed, unable to get comfortable. It wasn’t just Don Eladio’s screams, although that certainly didn’t help. They’d gotten fainter in the last day—hopefully it wouldn’t be long now.

He just wasn’t used to going to bed alone. Lalo was always there when he fell asleep. Even when they were staying with the families of the plazas, Lalo made sure to find him before he went to bed for a quick kiss. He hadn’t realized how used to it he’d become until it stopped.

It had been nearly forty-eight hours since Fring had arrived, and Nacho had gotten maybe three or four hours’ rest total. Everything took on an unreal quality—a dream he couldn’t wake from.

Only a little while longer. Then Fring would be gone.

A blood-curdling scream pierced the night. Don Eladio had some life left in him still, it seemed.

Nacho gave up. He got dressed in a tank and jeans and headed to the kitchen. He nearly had a heart attack when he found Ciro there, smoking a cigarette.

Ciro let out a yelp and put the cigarette out. “I’m sorry, patrón! I used my own lighter, not the stove—”

Nacho held his hands up. “It’s okay. I don’t care if you smoke.”

Ciro relaxed a little. “I’d go outside, but—”

Another scream. Nacho suppressed a shudder. He went to the fridge for a beer. “You want one?” he asked Ciro.

He hesitated, but then nodded. “Thank you, patrón.”

Nacho wished he wouldn’t call him that, but it seemed to make Ciro more nervous to call him by his name.

Nacho sat at the kitchen table and gestured for Ciro to join him. Ciro slinked into his chair. They both winced as another of Eladio’s screams echoed through the courtyard.

They drank in silence. “Patrón?” Ciro asked in a small voice after a while. “I know that Don Eladio is a bad man and that he was going to hurt Don Lalo, but—does he deserve this?”

Nacho snorted. “Do any of us get what we deserve?” He reached across the table and touched Ciro’s hand. “Hey. You did good. You kept Yolanda and Cecelio safe, right? That’s what Lalo would have wanted you to do.”

“You said he wouldn’t get hurt,” Ciro said, almost too quiet to hear.

“He’ll recover.” He really hoped he wouldn’t have to kill the kid.

“But why do you have him handcuffed?”

Nacho took a long drink. “Let’s say you live in a village in the jungle somewhere, and there’s a man-eating tiger on the loose. It’s not really the tiger’s fault—it’s just doing what it’s in its nature to do. But you can’t let it eat you, either. So what do you do?”

Ciro swallowed. “Kill it?”

“That’s an option,” Nacho agreed. “But what if you could tame it?”

Ciro looked skeptical. “How do you tame a tiger?”

“Carefully.” Nacho finished his drink and took the bottle to the trash. “Try to get some sleep.”

He was almost out of the room when Ciro spoke again. “You didn’t say everyone was going to die, either.”

Nacho turned around. Ciro was still at the table. He stuck out his chin, trying to be brave, but his voice quivered. “Are you going to kill me too?”

He rubbed his forehead. “I guess that depends on you, doesn’t it?” he finally said. He left without waiting for an answer.

Nacho padded down the hallway, back to the bedroom. He quietly opened the door to Lalo’s room. Lalo had once told Nacho he only slept an hour or two a night. Now he did nothing but sleep—probably a combination of the injury and the drugs. Maybe it would do him some good to get actual rest for once. He lingered in the doorway, watching his chest rise and fall. The handcuff around his wrist glinted in the low light that streamed in from the hallway.

Carefully, he closed the door. At least one of them would be rested.

***

Nacho watched movies for the rest of the night. Lalo’s DVD collection wasn’t great, but it wasn’t like he could really pay attention anyway. Eladio’s screams grew less frequent, stopping entirely by dawn. Nacho went out to the patio to get a breath of fresh air, only to find Fring sitting by the fire pit. He was perfectly still, his hand resting on his thighs as he stared into space, like he was in some sort of trance.

He was about to leave when Fring looked up and met his gaze. “Mr. Varga,” he said, inclining his head. His voice was cool as always, but there was a gleam in his eyes that Nacho didn’t like. Fring gestured to the chair across from him. “Won’t you join me?”

Nacho considered refusing, but it was better to know what he was up to than to be in the dark. Besides, he didn’t want Fring to think he was afraid.

“Enjoying your revenge?” Nacho asked.

“Very much so.” Fring smiled. Nacho didn’t like it. “May I ask you a question?” When Nacho nodded, he continued. “How did you know that this is what I wanted?”

“Lalo told me the story of what happened with your partner,” he said. “Wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.”

“That makes you smarter than the rest of the cartel. You’ll do well, I think.” He took his glasses off and cleaned them. “That is, if you can keep Lalo under your heel. How certain are you of your power over him?”

Nacho grit his teeth. “He won’t be a problem.”

“He does seem infatuated with you,” Fring said. “But infatuation fades. I hope you have a plan that doesn’t involve your admittedly considerable charms.” Fring’s eyes grazed over him, so intense Nacho could almost feel it on his skin. “If you like, we can bring him to the guest house. Together, I’m sure you and I could ensure his compliance.”

A wave of nausea hit him, but he kept his face impassive. A quick glance downward and Nacho noticed a suspicious bulge in his pants. Great. The last thing he needed was Fring running around with a torture-induced boner. Fring thinking with his dick was a terrifying prospect, especially since he had a house full of heavily-armed men at his disposal, and Nacho was alone. Better for Nacho to handle it on his terms than let Fring’s hard-on come up with ideas.

Nacho stood and stretched his arms over his head, displaying his body. Fring inhaled sharply. Nacho met his gaze and smirked. He walked over to Fring and sat beside him. “I don’t think you want Lalo in there,” he murmured, close enough that his breath ghosted over Fring’s ear. “I think you want me.”

Fring’s breath quickened. Nacho put his hand on Fring’s crotch, drawing out a sharp gasp. He undid his fly and slipped his hand inside, taking a hold of his erection. “Why don’t you tell me what you’d do to me?” he asked as he slowly stroked him.

Fring shut his eyes as a tremor ran through him. “I’d start with you on your knees…”

Nacho faded out after that. He didn’t come back to himself until he was in front of the toilet, heaving. He rested his head on the cool porcelain. _Shit._ That had been happening more frequently—he would just…go away mentally and come to later on with only vague recollections of what happened. He wasn’t wearing a shirt—why? His eyes squeezed shut as he willed himself to remember. He’d gotten Fring off. Fring wanted his shirt so he gave it to him. Then Fring went back to the guest house, and Nacho came inside.

Nacho tried to get to his feet, but he was shaking too hard. He was so afraid, all of the time, and he had to bottle it up, not show a single moment of weakness, so when he was alone, it tended to get overwhelming. He held his head in his hands. _Shit shit shit_.

He wanted to run downstairs to the satellite phone and call Marco and Leonel—no one could touch him if they were there, they’d cut anyone who threatened him to pieces and then they’d hold him, take care of him, keep him safe, and he was so tired, so fucking _tired_ and he just wanted some goddamn sleep, and they could help him sleep, they’d stand guard and he could rest and—

He pinched himself. _Christ._ He need to keep it together, just for a little longer. He was so close. He had needed Fring for this—despite his bluff, Nacho knew he didn’t have the resources to pull a coup without him. And the cartel was in for a turbulent transition period—Nacho had to make sure the money flowed, that no one was given any reason to doubt Lalo’s leadership.

But once Lalo’s throne was secure, Nacho could work on getting rid of Fring, too. He’d keep going until every last threat was annihilated.

Eventually, he was able to get up. He took a shower—as hot as he could stand it—and got dressed again. He peeked in on Lalo—still asleep.

The screams had started again. Nacho couldn’t bear to be in the house another second. He grabbed a quick bite to eat in the kitchen before hunting Ciro down. He was in the house out back where the help lived. Nacho had to bang on the door to get him up. “I’m going out.”

Ciro rubbed his eyes sleepily. “Where?”

“Just—out. I need you to help the doctor with Lalo—make sure he gets taken care of, okay?”

Ciro nodded. “Yes, patrón.”

Nacho considered reminding him not to do anything stupid, but he doubted Ciro needed it.

He set off toward the other end of the property. The garage beckoned, but he doubted Fring would believe he was just going for a drive. That left the stables.

Lalo had offered to take him riding, but he’d declined. It wasn’t that he didn’t like horses. He used to love to ride. His mother’s parents had a ranch, and they would go to Mexico every summer. He had a lot of happy memories of hitting the trail with his abuelo, the sun on his skin as he breathed in the warm smells of the country. But then his mother died, and his grandparents sold the ranch soon after.

Sometimes good memories were more painful than bad ones—knowing that you had lost something precious that you’d never see again.

Cecelio was there when Nacho arrived—it seemed he had just finished feeding the horses. Part of the reason Nacho kept him alive—someone needed to keep up the estate. He felt bad about the others, but he had to make sure any guards he hired took orders from him, not Lalo. But Yolanda, Celelio, and Ciro would do what he said.

That, and they were innocent and defenseless, but Nacho was trying to break himself of that kind of thinking. He needed to be hard.

The gardener gave him a sullen look, but then he bowed his head and wished Nacho good morning. Nacho dismissed him and turned to Mephistopheles, the enormous black stallion Eladion had given Lalo. Nacho put a hand on his nose. The horse nuzzled his hand in return.

“You only look scary,” he said to the horse. “You wanna go for a ride?”

Mephistopheles snorted, which Nacho took for a yes. He saddled him up and set off, down a trail outside the property.

Instantly, he felt better. Far from being difficult, Mephistopheles was a dream to ride, perfectly attuned to Nacho’s desires. Of course Eladio would only give Lalo a well-trained animal. His stomach twisted at the thought of Eladio and what was being done to him, but he shook it off.

They came across a brook with a few trees on either side of it. Nacho dismounted and tended to the horse. He splashed his face with water and then sat under the tree, leaning against it as his eyes fluttered closed. Out here, he felt like he could breathe.

He dozed a little—not enough to give him any serious rest, but he felt a little bit better. He went over his plans, reassuring himself that he had thought through all the angles.

Maybe he should have been more worried about Lalo, but he wasn’t. Out of all the factors in play, Lalo’s devotion was the one he was most certain of. He couldn’t explain it to Fring—he didn’t think he could explain it to anyone in a way they’d understand.

Nacho had spent years as Tuco’s partner. He had a pretty good grasp on Salamanca psychology. Only fellow Salamancas counted as fully human to them. It was why Lalo could be so tender and affectionate with his tio, but also have a laugh at how they’d murdered a man together for fun.

Nacho twisted the heavy, gold ring on his finger, his thumb brushing over the red jewel. When Lalo had presented it to him, he’d been so angry. Like he was just supposed to forget all of the horrible shit Lalo put him through and swoon into his arms like a princess in a fairy tale.

But then he’d seen the way Lalo was looking at him. Like he was a person, not a plaything.

Lalo may have denied it, but that had been a marriage proposal. And Nacho accepted it. They didn’t need a ceremony. Nacho had put his necklace around Lalo’s neck, and it was done. He was Nacho Salamanca now.

And Salamancas would rather die than betray their own. _Familia lo es todo_. The closest thing Salamancas had to a moral code. Tigers didn't eat other tigers. It was unthinkable.

Nacho got up and stretched. He needed to get back.

After putting Mephistopheles away, he returned to the villa. Fring’s men were in the dining room, eating and laughing as Yolanda’s new girl served them. Nacho passed the kitchen on his way to Lalo’s room. Yolanda gave him a look that was difficult to read before returning to her work—something between anger and resignation.

He was greeted in the hallway by the doctor.

“How’s he doing?” Nacho asked.

“Good. The wound is healing nicely, although there will be a scar.” He cleared his throat. “Eladio is dead.”

Nacho let out a sigh of relief. _Finally._

The doctor handed him a piece of paper. “I’ve written down the instructions for his care, and I’ll leave you the supplies you’ll need.” He paused. “How long are you going to want to keep him drugged?”

Nacho rubbed his face. “Not long.”

The doctor nodded. “Good.” He looked as if he were going to say more, but thought better of it. He disappeared down the hall.

Once he was gone, Nacho peeked in the bedroom. Lalo’s head lulled to the side. His eyes blinked open briefly, but Nacho wasn’t sure if he really saw him. His brow furrowed as if confused, but after a minute, his eyes shut, and his breathing slowed. Asleep again. It filled Nacho with envy.

It didn’t take Fring and his men long to get ready to leave. They were gone within the hour. Once they had left, Nacho returned to Lalo’s room. He was still out, snoring a little.

Carefully, Nacho lay down beside him and curled up on his side, facing away from him so he wouldn’t be tempted to touch him. He shut his eyes and let his breath fall into the same rhythm. Some of his tension eased—a momentary respite.

But he’d have to let Lalo wake up sometime, and then they’d both have to face what Nacho had done.

They’d get through it. Marriages didn’t need to be happy to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😭😭😭😭


	7. The Quality of Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Was any of it real?” Lalo asked. “Did you ever care for me at all?” When Nacho didn’t respond, Lalo softened his tone. “Please, Ignacio. You owe me that much.”_
> 
> _Nacho took Lalo’s right hand gently in his own and traced the imprint the cuff had left on his wrist. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”_
> 
> _Lalo looked into his eyes, trying to fathom the fathomless. “I don’t know,” he admitted._
> 
> Can Lalo seize control, or is Nacho's grip on him too tight?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter got way too long and I had to split it, which means the fic is now 10 chapters. Say a little pray for me that it doesn't mutate again!

_ Though justice be thy plea, consider this, _   
_ That, in the course of justice, none of us _   
_ Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy; _   
_ And that same prayer doth teach us all to render _   
_ The deeds of mercy. _

_ \- The Merchant of Venice, Act IV, scene i _

Lalo dreamed.

He was a child the last time he dreamed, and he didn’t miss it. Sleep had always disturbed him—the encroaching blackness as his senses failed, like a little death every time as the real world dissolved into unreality. It was why he avoided it.

But he had no choice now—not with the injury and the drugs. And so he was pulled into dreams against his will. Or—not dreams, plural. Dream, singular, the same one, again and again. He would turn over to see someone lying in bed beside him, covered by a blanket—Nacho? Lalo would reach out, fear and desire running through him, and slide his hand under the covers. His fingers encountered not skin, but smooth scales. The figure would slither over him, wrapping around him until he was completely enveloped, especially tight on his wrist and neck. Every breath got a little harder as the flesh around him squeezed. As he was constricted, the snake’s head came into view for the first time—eyes red, tongue flickering. And then it would lunge and sink its fangs into his shoulder.

And then Lalo would wake up. Or at least, leave the dream, but it wasn’t wakefulness either. He’d have moments of terrifying clarity before the doctor would arrive and send him under again. Lalo felt like a deep-sea diver, his surroundings swaying as if in a current. Every minute he sank deeper, the pressure around him growing stronger and stronger, pushing him back to sleep, and to the snake, and then he would wake up and it would start over again.

The slither. The squeeze. The bite. Repeat.

He couldn’t have said how long he drifted. But he did surface again, coming to on the bed, blinking up at the ceiling. His shoulder screamed in pain, but he welcomed it. It meant he was awake, and not drugged.

Out of habit he pulled at the handcuff, only to discover he was no longer restrained. How? An oversight, maybe? Slowly, slowly, he sat up, still disoriented. He looked around—he’d been moved to his own bedroom after the first day. He was dressed in a tee-shirt and sweatpants that he vaguely recalled the doctor putting on him, and his feet were bare.

Lalo sat on the edge of the bed, gaining his footing. At last he lurched to his feet and stumbled out of the room.

It was late afternoon. The villa was quiet. While the drugs had worn off, a sense of unreality remained. This was his home, but it was foreign now. Bullet holes in the walls and the furniture, his decorations half gone—broken, presumably, and in the trash. Blood stained the rug in the living room.

Sounds came from the kitchen. Lalo flattened himself against the wall and crept around the corner.

Yolanda and the new girl were preparing a meal, Yolanda at the stove and the girl chopping vegetables. And standing off to the side was Ciro, smoking a cigarette.

Lalo’s mind was still foggy, but it didn’t take him long to puzzle it out. Nacho had his other men killed, but he needed Yolanda and Cecelio to keep up the fine estate he’d just seized. And he also could use an inside man—one who knew all the security secrets and could throw down the red carpet for Fring’s assassins.

Lalo should have retreated—he wasn’t in any position to fight, and surprise was the only advantage he had. But the fury that overcame him at the sight of Ciro’s treacherous face was too strong to be ignored. With a roar, he barreled into the kitchen and threw himself at Ciro. The new girl screamed as Lalo tackled him to the ground.

“You treacherous little asshole!” Lalo shouted. He grabbed for his gun—

—only to realize that Ciro was unarmed. He blinked. Why didn’t he have a gun?

“I’m sorry, patrón!” Ciro wailed. “Please, he said it was to save you!”

Ciro’s cigarette had fallen on the ground beside them. Lalo picked it up and put it out on Ciro’s neck, making him squeal.

“You think that hurt?” Lalo snarled. “That is just the beginning of what’s coming to you, you miserable little shit. Just wait until I—”

“Let him go, Lalo.”

They both looked up. Nacho had entered the room, with the girl cowering behind him. He folded his arms and gave Lalo a cool look.

Lalo got to his feet, his shoulder screaming in agony now that some of the adrenaline left him. Instead of looking at Nacho, he turned to his left. Yolanda stood in the same place she’d been when he’d entered, her expression unreadable. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile—he was happy she’d survived.

Then he made a grab for the knife the girl had abandoned when she’d run to get Nacho. Lalo had been shot in the left shoulder, which was a problem since he was left-handed. Pain shot through him as he tried to grip the knife. He switched to his right hand, but the delay had cost him precious seconds and Nacho was now on top of him. Nacho knocked the knife away and twisted Lalo’s arm behind his back—his right one, not the injured one. It still hurt like hell, and his grip was unshakable.

Nacho marched him past Ciro and the girl into the dining room and shoved him into a chair. Lalo’s stomach roiled—a result of the combination of the pain and exertion after being bed-ridden for who knew how many days, plus the remnants of whatever drugs he’d been pumped with. He was in no shape for a fight, especially not with someone as strong as Nacho. He’d handled Lalo like he was nothing. All this time, he’d been pulling punches. Lalo had no idea how strong Nacho truly was.

“You gonna behave yourself?” Nacho asked, still cool.

Lalo stared at the table in front of him and said nothing. His release from the handcuffs hadn’t been an oversight. Nacho wanted to show Lalo that he didn’t need restraints to hold him. Well-played. He could almost admire it.

Nacho called out to the kitchen. “Yolanda—coffee for both of us.” How easily he took on the mantle of patrón. Although he was missing his usual signals of power. He wore a simple cotton pullover rather than a flashy shirt, and no jewelry save his snake earring—and Lalo’s ring.

He touched the necklace Nacho had given him almost without thought. He should rip it off and throw it in Nacho’s face.

But he didn’t.

“You need to take it easy,” Nacho said. “It’s going to be weeks before you’re healed. I’m sure you don’t want to add to it.”

Lalo scowled. “How kind of you to be concerned.” He tried to cross his arms, but pain shot through him. “How many days have I been out?”

“Three.”

Three days, lost. An eerie feeling. “Where’s Fring?”

“Gone.”

“And Eladio?”

“Dead.”

Probably for the best. Poor bastard. “I assume you have some brilliant plan to explain why we didn’t tell anyone we’d been attacked until days after the fact? And why assassins tortured him? That’s going to be something people notice.”

Nacho folded his hands on the table. “We were attacked, and you were hit. I grabbed you and headed for the secret escape tunnel. Ciro met me with Yolanda and the others—that was his job, guarding your beloved housekeeper and gardener. We thought Eladio was dead.

“We escaped to a cottage you have a few miles away. You showed it to me once, do you remember? Anyway, we didn’t have a phone and were concerned the assassins would find us if we hit the road. I checked out the villa—they were still there. We had to wait until they left until we could return. We found all of your men dead, and Eladio dead and tortured in the guest house. I’ve spent the afternoon making calls. Everyone’s really worried about you.”

Lalo drummed his fingers. “And why would assassins torture Eladio?”

Nacho shrugged. “It’s a mystery right now. But there’s been tension between Eladio and Bolsa for a while now. Everyone knows he hates how Eladio treats him like a subordinate even though Bolsa’s been there from the beginning. There were rumors that Eladio was cutting into Bolsa’s share.”

“Rumors you started.”

Nacho inclined his head. “The assassins were supposed to get information about where he hid the money before they killed him. Bolsa planned to frame the Sinaloans for it, but he made a few mistakes that people will catch onto in the coming days.”

Lalo snorted. “It’s a crazy story. No one will believe it.”

“Why wouldn’t they? Do you think that anyone is going to suspect you killed your own men, destroyed your own property, and shot yourself in the shoulder just to frame Bolsa? That would be really crazy.”

He had a point.

The girl entered with a tray of coffee and a plate of conchas. She shot Lalo a nervous look. Lalo bared his teeth at her, and she flinched.

“Thank you, Rita,” Nacho said. She left with a murmured _yes, patrón_.

Lalo had an impulse to refuse the coffee and bread, but it smelled good and he was hungry. He barely remembered eating over the past few days, although he must have. “You’ll need to get the bodies of my men back to their families. They’ll expect as much.”

“Taken care of. Ciro has been calling them.”

At his name, Lalo scowled. “Filthy dog, when I’ve been so generous to him.”

“Don’t be too hard on him. I told him that Eladio was planning on murdering you, but you weren’t taking the threat seriously. We had to strike first to save you.” Nacho shook his head. “No clue what you did to inspire the amount of devotion that kid has for you.”

Lalo brightened a little. To him, yes—not Nacho. Something he could use later, maybe.

Lalo’s mind turned as he drank his coffee. It seemed Nacho had thought of everything, but something nagged at him. It took him the entire cup to realize it. “How did you get Fring’s number.”

Nacho took a long drink before responding. “Bolsa. I told him there was business I needed to discuss with him.”

Lalo narrowed his eyes. Nacho’s expression was impassive as always, but the last few days had taught Lalo to treat everything that came out of his mouth as a lie unless he had a reason to believe otherwise. “You’re lying.”

His expression didn’t flicker. “Where else would I get it from?”

He had to think another minute. The realization hit him like a sledgehammer to the stomach. “You were spying on me for him. That’s why you wanted me to protect your dad—because Fring threatened him to get your compliance.”

Nacho said nothing. Lalo hit the table. “After everything you’ve put me through, you owe me the truth!” 

Nacho rubbed his temple. “Yeah, he was threatening me. But I fed him bad information—do you really think he would have let the DEA take a million dollars if I had warned him?”

“Yeah, it does sound crazy,” Lalo agreed. “As crazy as shooting yourself and destroying your home in order to frame someone."

Nacho shrugged, his expression unreadable. Lalo felt sick.

Nacho finished his coffee. “Representatives from the plazas are coming tomorrow for a meeting.”

Lalo shook his head. “No—I don’t do business in my home.”

“I’m not asking you, Lalo,” Nacho said, almost gently. “I’m telling you what’s happening.”

Lalo clenched his fists. “No! I have my limits.”

Nacho blinked. “Limits.” At last, his neutral expression cracked as his lip curled into a sneer. “ _Limits?_ Let’s talk about limits. Were you thinking of my limits when you made me strip and sucked my dick in your kitchen? Did I give the impression that I was thrilled by that development instead of scared shitless about what you might do to me if I refused?”

Lalo shifted in his seat. “I gave you the option to leave.”

Nacho scoffed. “Right. Or how about when you got rid of Amber and Jo because you were jealous? Or when you forced me to commit arson because you were bored?”

With every accusation, his voice grew louder. His face was so twisted in anger that Lalo barely recognized him. “Or when you beat my best friend and made me fuck him? And now you want to talk to me about _your_ fucking limits?!” Nacho hit the table so hard that his coffee mug crashed to the floor and broke into pieces.

Lalo remained silent as Nacho rubbed his face, composing himself. What response could he possibly give? An apology? He decided it was worth a try. “I’m sorry.”

Wrong answer, judging by Nacho’s bitter laugh. “Oh well, then. That fixes things.”

Lalo threw his good hand in the air. “What do you want me to say? And don’t act like you’re some perfect angel in all of this. Or are you forgetting the time you almost strangled me to death?”

Nacho just stared at him. “You are unbelievable.”

They were interrupted by the appearance of Rita, who came in with a broom and dustpan. She cleaned up the broken glass. “More coffee, patrón?”

Nacho shook his head. She disappeared back into the kitchen.

“And you were spying on me,” Lalo continued once she was gone. “Don’t forget that either, St. Ignacio.”

Nacho twisted his ring and stood. “I’m done with this conversation. Just stick with the story tomorrow.”

“And what if I don’t? What if I tell them instead of your treachery? They’ve known me their whole careers, and they’ve known you for no more than a month.”

“You could do that,” Nacho said. “They’d probably believe you. But after the way you vouched for me and enthusiastically gave me a tour of the whole cartel operation, it would reflect badly on you. How long would you last in a cartel when everyone knows how easily Lalo el Lobo is fooled?”

Lalo got to his feet and snarled. “I wouldn’t say it was easy. You put in a lot of hard work in my bed to get that trust. Isn’t that right, _serpientito_?”

Little snake. Nacho flushed at the name but kept his composure. “I have more calls to make.” He paused at the edge of the room and looked over his shoulder. “Get some rest, _lobito_.”

Little wolf. As soon as Nacho was gone, Lalo hurled his coffee mug across the room. It shattered against the wall. He did a sweep of the house, looking for the guns he kept in a few hiding places, for emergencies. But he had shown Nacho all of those hiding places because he wanted to make sure he’d be able to protect himself if they were attacked, and so of course they were all gone now. _Dios mío_ , he was a fool.

He sat down in an armchair to catch his breath. Some of his anger eased now that the heat of the moment had passed, leaving him tired and aching. Everything hurt, not just his shoulder. The worst pain was in his heart. Nacho was right—he hadn’t really cared about his feelings. But that was before he’d fallen in love. Things had changed—hadn’t they?

And then to find out that the entire time, Nacho had been a spy. That alone was bad enough, but what was even more disturbing was that Lalo hadn’t suspected it for a single moment.

After Nacho shot him, he had told him he needed him and kissed him as sweetly as he ever had. Was that true, or another lie? Even if he had meant it, what happened when Nacho decided he didn’t need him anymore?

Lalo rubbed his face. He needed a weapon.

He returned to his room to get some shoes, and then went out back to the servants’ quarters and knocked on the door. “Ciro? Are you in there?” Silence. “I’m not going to hurt you,” Lalo added. “I just want to talk.”

A moment later, the door opened, and Ciro blinked at him with wide eyes. There was a Band-Aid on his neck. “Yes, patrón?”

“Can I come in?”

Ciro took a step back so Lalo could go inside. There were six bedrooms in this house, a common area, and a kitchen. All his men lived here—or used to live here. “Got a lot of space to yourself now, yeah?”

Ciro winced. “He didn’t tell me he meant for them to die. He said that Eladio was going to kill you, and we had strike first.”

“Why didn’t you come to me?”

“He said that you would call it off because you didn’t understand the threat.” Ciro rubbed his arm. “It all made sense when he explained it.”

Lalo snorted. “He’s very convincing, isn’t he?” He sighed. His shoulder was killing him. “You got any beer?”

“Yes, patrón.”

“Not patrón anymore, eh? Just call me Lalo.” 

He flushed. “Yes, Lalo.”

Ciro went to the kitchen and returned with two bottles. Lalo patted the seat next to him. Ciro sat down, his cheeks flushed.

“He really had us going, didn’t he?” Lalo took his bottle and clinked it against Ciro’s. “To fools.”

“You aren’t a fool,” Ciro said with feeling. “He’s a devious snake—anyone would be tricked by his lies!”

Lalo snorted. “Yeah, well, most people are smart enough not to let snakes slither into their bed.” He took a long drink as he contemplated Ciro. Lalo set the bottle aside and brushed his fingers over the bandage on his neck. “You’re not a snake though, are you?” he murmured. “Loyal. Like a dog. No—a puppy.”

Ciro’s eyes fluttered shut. “Yes, patrón.”

Lalo dropped his hand. “You got a gun?”

Ciro’s eyes opened again. “He took them all.”

“But I bet you know where he put them.”

Ciro bit his lip. “He locked them up, and he has the key.”

“He keep that key on him?”

“No,” Ciro said after a minute. “I think I saw him put it in a drawer in his room.”

“Then I’ll distract him, and you get the key.”

Ciro’s eyes were wide. “What if he catches me?”

“He won’t.” Lalo cupped his face. “Can you be brave for me, _perrito_?”

The puppy set his jaw. “Yes, patrón. Are you going to kill him?”

A very good question. “We’ll see. Wait until he sits down for dinner. I’ll make sure that he’s distracted. Once you get the gun, leave it under my bed.”

Ciro nodded. “I won’t let you down.”

Lalo headed back to the house and returned to his room. Despite all the sleeping he’d done, he found himself exhausted. There were some pain pills in his bathroom. He took one and lay down.

The one thing he could say for sleep was that it passed the time, because the next thing he knew, the girl Rita was at the door.

“Dinner is ready, sir,” she said. “Señor Varga wants to know if you would like to join him, or if you want me to bring a tray.”

Lalo sat up. “Tell him I’m coming.”

He splashed his face with water, trying to banish his fogginess, before heading for the dining room. Nacho was sitting at the table, serving himself from the dish of enchiladas. He looked up when Lalo entered. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been shot.”

Nacho rubbed his forehead. “You want to sit down?”

As he took his seat, Nacho picked up Lalo’s plate. “How hungry are you?”

Lalo just shrugged. Nacho served him a healthy portion and put the plate in front of him. He picked up his fork and gestured to Lalo’s dinner. “You need to eat before you take your antibiotics.”

They started to eat. Nacho gestured to his shoulder. “You change that bandage yet? I can help you after dinner.”

Lalo snorted. “Someone who didn’t know any better might think you cared.”

Nacho didn’t have anything to say to that.

They passed the rest of the dinner in silence. When they were finished, Nacho took Lalo back to his bedroom. He caught sight of Ciro in the kitchen, who gave him a nod. His mission had been a success.

Nacho had Lalo sit down on the bed while he went in the bathroom to get supplies. He returned with a bag and a glass of water. After handing Lalo the glass, he pulled a pill bottle out of the bag and opened it. “Antibiotics,” he said.

Lalo accepted the pills and swallowed them. He set the glass of water aside as Nacho took out the bandages and salve.

“You need help with your shirt?” Nacho murmured.

Lalo wanted to say no, but as he moved his arm, he winced. “Yes.”

Nacho gathered his shirt and slipped it over his head, careful not to jostle his shoulder too much, and in another moment he was bare-chested. How many times had Nacho undressed him before? He couldn’t say. It didn’t seem important to keep track, but now he wished he had. Why was it that the only time he truly appreciated something was when it was over?

Nacho removed the bandage and set it aside. He gathered some salve in his hand and rubbed it over the wound. “This okay? Not too hard?”

Lalo shook his head. When he was finished, Nacho affixed a new bandage, taping it carefully in place. His fingers lingered a moment longer than they needed to. Or maybe that was just Lalo’s wishful thinking.

“Was any of it real?” Lalo asked. “Did you ever care for me at all?” When Nacho didn’t respond, Lalo softened his tone. “Please, Ignacio. You owe me that much.”

Nacho took Lalo’s right hand gently in his own and traced the imprint the cuff had left on his wrist. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

Lalo looked into his eyes, trying to fathom the fathomless. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

Nacho looked away first. He picked up Lalo’s shirt and helped him back into it. “Get some rest,” he said. He left, shutting the door behind him.

When he was gone, Lalo looked under the bed. Ciro had left him a pistol. He pulled it out; it was cool and heavy in his hand.

What did he intend to do with it? Nacho had been right—if the truth came out that he’d been deceived so thoroughly, his career was over. But there was nothing to say that he couldn’t go along with the lie—without Nacho.

Could he kill him? But maybe that was the wrong question. Was he willing to surrender to Nacho’s will and wait for that final stab in the back, once Nacho’s power was secure and he didn’t need Lalo anymore?

No, he decided. That meant there was only one option.

Lalo waited until he was sure Nacho was asleep. Gun in hand, he crept down the hallway until he reached Nacho’s room. He pushed the door open.

Nacho was asleep, one arm thrown over his head. Lalo watched his bare chest rise and fall for a moment. It was amazing how sleep could transform him, his usual stony expression softened…

Lalo shook himself out of it. This wasn’t going to get any easier the longer he waited. He raised the gun, held awkwardly in his right hand, and leveled it at Nacho’s head.

One minute passed, then two. And then Nacho’s eyes fluttered open.

He stared at the gun for a moment, and then his gaze slid up to Lalo. Slowly, he sat up, holding Lalo’s gaze the entire time. Then just as slowly, he leaned forward and kissed the barrel of the gun.

Lalo’s hand shook. Sweat beaded on his brow. He willed himself to pull the trigger, but nothing happened. When Nacho reached for the gun, Lalo didn’t stop him. He put the gun aside and grabbed Lalo’s necklace, pulling him forward into a searing kiss.

Lalo let out a sob and collapsed into bed. Nacho helped Lalo out of his clothes before pulling off his own underwear. When they were both naked, Nacho wrapped his strong arms around him in a too-tight embrace, his hard cock pressed against Lalo’s own. He captured his mouth in another kiss, and another.

Nacho left him briefly to retrieve lube from the nightstand. He slicked Lalo’s cock as he had done so many times before, and reached around and fingered himself before climbing on top of him.

Nacho sighed, touching himself as he took Lalo in to the root. He was so hot and so tight, bearing down around him. Lalo’s dream flashed through his mind—the serpent in his bed, squeezing the life from him. He began to move, one hand on Lalo’s stomach to hold himself steady as he rode him. Pleasure rolled through him, cut with pain from his shoulder. The sensations merged as Nacho moved faster.

“ _Por favor_ ,” Lalo cried. Tears streaked his face. “ _Por favor Ignacio, te amo_. Please, I love you, please…”

Nacho's only reply was a moan as he came, his muscles constricting around Lalo’s cock in an irresistible rhythm, and then Lalo came too, pulse after pulse until there was nothing left in him.

Nacho waited until he caught his breath before easing off of him. He curled up by his side. “Do we forgive each other?” he asked, so quietly Lalo almost didn’t hear him.

Lalo wiped the tears from his face. “ _Si, mi serpientito."_

What other choice did they have?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That got a lot more tender than I had planned at the end. These two assholes really are a match made in hell. ❤️️
> 
> Last scene was inspired by [ this incredibly sexy art](https://krokorobin.tumblr.com/post/616480706655289344/risk-taking-behavior) by krokorobin! 
> 
> Next up - the arrival of two good boys threatens Lalo and Nacho's truce.


	8. Hail Infernal World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Lalo held his breath as Nacho and Marco stood together on the lawn. Would Nacho kiss him, and turn back to Lalo and smirk? Would they laugh at him, an old, injured animal unable to defend what was his? Or would they sneer in disgust at his helplessness?_
> 
> _Marco laid a hand on Nacho’s shoulder. Nacho heaved a sigh and shuddered, like Atlas might if someone offered to hold the world for a little while._
> 
> _Anger flared blazing hot in Lalo for moment, but just as quickly burned itself out, a fire with no fuel. Familia lo es todo. The first lesson he learned, drilled into Salamanca children from birth. How could he hate his family? Sunlight glinted off Nacho’s ring as he raised his hand and placed it over Marco’s. Lalo’s heart twisted in an indescribable way when he realized that command encompassed Nacho now, too._
> 
> Lalo negotiates the terms of his surrender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up - note the tag changes if you haven't already.

_Farewell happy Fields_

_Where Joy forever dwells: Hail horrors, hail_

_Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell_

_Receive thy new Possessor: One who brings_

_A mind not to be chang'd by Place or Time._

_The mind is its own place, and in it self_

_Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n._

\- John Milton, Paradise Lost

Lalo woke before dawn.

He’d slept several hours again, which was disconcerting. Would this continue until his shoulder healed? Or was age finally catching up to him? Either way, he didn’t like it. Sleep made him vulnerable.

Nacho was asleep beside him on his stomach, one arm slung over Lalo’s waist. Lalo kept still for a long moment, feeling Nacho breathe. He couldn’t decide if it was comforting to wake up in his _amorcito’s_ arms, or disquieting to be in his _serpientito’s_ grasp.

After carefully extracting himself, he sat up and shook his head, trying to dislodge the fog of sleep. His shoulder ached, his head pounded, and his bladder was screaming at him. Not an auspicious start to the day. He headed to his bathroom. After relieving himself, he peeled off his bandage and made a face. Gross, but it didn’t seem infected. He stepped into the shower. The water washing over him was pure bliss, and he exited the shower feeling marginally better.

When he was dried off, he rubbed salve on his wound and replaced the bandage. A trip to the closet, and then he was dressed—jeans and a simple blue button-down shirt. He returned to the bathroom to get his pills—definitely the antibiotics, but he hesitated at the pain meds. Did he risk being muddled by pain medication?

In the end, he grabbed them, too, and put them in his pocket. The battle was over, and he’d surrendered.

He went to the kitchen. Yolanda was there, preparing coffee. She let out a cry when she saw him, but quickly put her hand over her mouth. “Is he here?” she whispered.

Lalo shook his head. “Asleep still, I think.”

“Oh Lalito,” she said, and then she put her face in her hands and began to weep.

Lalo strode across the room and took her in his arms. “Hush, now—what’s the matter?” Nacho didn’t strike him as someone who would terrorize the help, but Lalo had been wrong about Nacho a lot recently. “He hasn’t hurt you, has he?”

She shook her head. “Not yet, but who’s to say he won’t decide to get rid of me? Not after what I’ve seen, what I know…” She touched his shoulder. “And look what he did to you!”

“It’s nothing,” Lalo assured her. He put a finger under her chin and smiled. “And why would he get rid of the best cook in Chihuahua, eh? He’d have to be crazy!”

“I think he _is_ crazy,” she whispered. “How will you escape?”

Lalo frowned. “Escape? From my own home?”

“Is it still yours?”

Before he could answer, the sounds of footsteps echoed in the hall. Yolanda tore herself away and returned to the coffee. Nacho emerged in the doorway, dressed for the day in his usual red and black. He met Lalo’s gaze briefly before turning to Yolanda. “We’ll have breakfast in the dining room.”

“Yes, _patrón_ ,” she murmured.

They moved to the dining room. “How’s your shoulder?” Nacho asked as they sat down.

“Hurts, but it’s healing.”

“Good. You take your meds?”

Lalo fished the pills out of his pocket and set them on the table. “With food, yes?”

Nacho nodded. “Smells like you had a shower.”

“Yes.” It was on the tip of his tongue to point out whose fault it was he hadn’t bathed in days, but he had no desire to start fighting again. Lalo scanned Nacho’s face. Still stone, still impenetrable. _Do we forgive each other?_ Nacho had asked. Lalo had said yes. Did that mean that things could go on as they had before?

Or was Lalo still a prisoner in his own home?

The girl Rita came in with the coffee. She shot Lalo a nervous look. Rita was Nacho’s creature, clearly, while Yolanda, Cecelio, and Ciro were Lalo’s. His stomach felt queasy at the thought that Nacho might replace them, because Yolanda was right—they knew too much.

“So,” Lalo said. “The plaza leaders are coming today?”

Nacho sipped his coffee. “Yes.”

“Why here?”

“I wanted them to see for themselves what the assassins had done, and of course, Eladio’s body.” He took another drink. “César Bravo is bringing up some men too, to replace your guards.”

“Is he bringing any housekeepers or gardeners?”

Nacho set his mug down. “What, you think I’m going to execute the rest of your staff? You really think I’m capable of that?”

“I think there is very little you aren’t capable of, _serpientito_.”

Their gazes locked. Nacho looked away first and rubbed his face. He got up and poked his head in the kitchen. “Rita, find Ciro and tell him I want to see him, now.”

Lalo stood. “What are you doing?”

Nacho pointed at the table. “Sit down. I’ll be right back.” He disappeared down the hall, towards the bedrooms. He returned a few minutes later—with the gun.

Lalo stiffened. Of course he had figured out who must have given it to him. “Nacho,” he began. “I don’t think—”

“Shut up.” He sat down and placed the gun on the table in front of him.

A moment later, Ciro appeared in the doorway. He shot a glance at Lalo, his eyes wide and frightened. Lalo gave him a one-shouldered shrug—it was out of his hands now. He didn’t want to see Ciro hurt, but he was curious to see how Nacho _el_ _Patrón_ handled discipline.

“Get in here,” Nacho said to Ciro.

Poor Ciro was shaking, but he did as he was told. “Yes, _patrón_?”

“Lalo found this in his room. Any idea how it got there?” Ciro’s gaze darted to Lalo, but Nacho snapped his fingers. “Don’t look at him. Look at me.”

Ciro turned in his direction and shook his head. “I-I don’t know.”

“You sure that’s the answer you want to go with?”

Ciro shot another desperate glance at Lalo, who nodded his permission.

Or at least, that’s what Lalo intended to communicate, but Ciro got the wrong idea. His spine straightened as he found the courage to protect his true boss. “I swear I don’t know, _patrón_.”

Lalo nearly groaned. “Ciro, he knows it was you. It does no one any good to tell obvious lies.”

Ciro’s puppy eyes flashed with hurt, as if he’d just been kicked, before clouding with fear again as he looked back to Nacho.

Nacho picked up the gun and stood. He held it in front of him—and then took out the magazine. He handed the unloaded gun to a bewildered Ciro, along with a key. “Put it back where it belongs, and then put the key back in my room. If another gun goes missing, things will end badly for you. This is your only warning. Understand?”

Ciro nodded shakily. “Yes, _patrón_.” He gave Lalo one more wounded look before leaving.

“You think it’s a good idea to hand him the key to your armory?” Lalo asked. “How do you know he won’t steal another gun?”

Nacho sat back down. “If he does what I tell him to do now, even though he has an opportunity to take another weapon, then I’ll know I can trust him.”

“And what if it turns out you can’t trust him, and he comes back here with guns blazing?”

“They aren’t loaded. Besides, I could always use you as a human shield.” Nacho gave him a look. “That kid is in love with you, if you haven’t noticed.”

He had, actually. Lalo thought it was funny. Or at least, he used to. But for some reason, now it just made him feel queasy.

Rita entered with breakfast— _huevos rancheros_ , the fried eggs shining like yellow eyes in a sea of bright red salsa. He wasn’t hungry, but he ate anyway. He had to take his medicine, even if it was tough to swallow.

“When does everyone get here?” Lalo asked when they’d finished eating.

“I told them afternoon.” He glanced at the clock. “Marco and Leonel should be here any minute though.”

Lalo blinked. “You called them?”

Nacho folded his arms. “Of course I called them. They need to know what’s going on.”

It was true enough, but Lalo still felt a pit in his stomach. “And which version of the truth did you tell them?”

“They know I'm working with Fring.”

“And what did they say?”

Nacho shrugged. “Not much.” His voice softened. “Marco just asked what I needed.”

The pit in Lalo’s stomach grew larger. “And what do you need?”

“Reminders to the plaza bosses of our power, before they get any ideas. Everyone knows what Marco and Leonel are capable of. Besides, they’re Salamancas. They should be here. This is their empire too now.”

“And that’s all you want from them?" Nacho said nothing. "You aren’t going to fuck them again, are you?”

Nacho shifted in his seat and shrugged.

Anger exploded in him. “You want to punish me more—is that it?”

Nacho snorted. “You might find this hard to believe, but not everything is about you.”

“Then why?” When Nacho didn’t answer, he hit the table. “Ignacio, no! I will not stand for it!”

Nacho let out a nasty laugh. “Won’t stand for it, huh? And what are you going to do—not shoot me again?” He pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing in a more measured tone. “Just so we’re perfectly clear— _you don’t get a say in what I do anymore_. No one does. Not Tuco, not Hector, not Fring—” He leaned forward and gave Lalo’s injured shoulder a hard tap, right on the bullet wound. “—and not you.”

Lalo was too stunned to react. Nacho stood. “Just shut up and do as you’re told. If you’re really good, maybe I’ll let you watch.”

Lalo stared at Nacho’s retreating back and rubbed his shoulder. That had really hurt.

He wandered back to his room, feeling dazed. The pills he’d taken kicked in, leaving him muddled when he needed to be sharp. Why had he taken them? He went to the bathroom and splashed his face with water, then looked at himself in the mirror. His cheeks were hollow, and there were bags under his eyes in spite of how much he’d been sleeping. Never had he felt more pitiful.

He decided to call his mother. Word had probably gotten out by now, and he wanted to let her know he was okay.

She picked up after the third ring. “Hello?”

“Mamá? It’s me.”

“Ay, Lalito!” she cried. “You stupid boy! How could you be so careless? To almost get yourself assassinated!”

Lalo heaved a sigh. “What could I have done to stop it?”

“You could have hired decent guards to protect you! They say all of them died—you too cheap to pay for decent help? I’d give you the money, if you need it.”

“I don’t need money,” Lalo said patiently. “My men were fine. It’s just one of those things. You know how it goes in our line of business.”

“What about this amazing new partner of yours, eh? The one who is supposed to be so smart? He couldn’t help you?”

“Well—he did keep me alive.” Which was true enough.

She let out a sob. “Oh, my baby! Who could have done this to you?”

Lalo rubbed his neck. “I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it. The plaza bosses are coming today.”

“It was that Bolsa,” she said. “I’ve never liked him.”

Nacho’s gossip had traveled far already, it seemed. “Maybe.” He rubbed his face. “I have to go, but I’ll call back later. My cousins are going to be here any minute.”

“Citlalli’s boys? Good. They’ll keep you safe. I love you, Lalito.”

“Love you too, Mamá.”

 _Safe._ The word tumbled around in Lalo’s head, a loose piece of a puzzle, until he figured out where it fit. _I felt safe._ That’s what Nacho had said when Lalo had asked what it was like to sleep with his cousins. It seemed laughable. Marco and Leonel left nothing but death in their wake. Truth be told, even he was a little afraid of them.

But they had saved Nacho. Marco’s blood had literally brought him back to life. And then they had exacted their revenge on his attackers. The entire Espinoza gang, annihilated. Perhaps in Nacho’s position, being with the twins would make him feel safe, too.

It didn’t mean he liked it any better. Jealousy gnawed at him. He’d suffered a lot of indignities lately. Surely there was room to discuss the terms of his surrender.

Hefound Nacho just about to exit the front door. “Ciro says they’re almost at the gate.”

Lalo put a hand on his. “I don’t want you to fuck them again. Please.”

Nacho jerked his hand away. “Did you take too many of those pain pills, or can you just not get it through your thick fucking skull? You don’t get a say here.”

“I’m asking,” Lalo said through gritted teeth.

“And I’m saying no.”

Lalo threw his good hand in the air. “What do you want me to do? Beg?”

Nacho folded his arms. “Good idea. Why don't you get down on your knees and beg me, and then maybe I'll reconsider."

There was a glint in Nacho's eyes that had never been there before, but Lalo recognized it well enough. "It feels good, doesn't it?" he asked.

Nacho's brow creased. "What does?"

"Power. Are you enjoying it, _serpientito_?"

Nacho inhaled sharply. He swung the door open and stormed outside.

Lalo followed after him. “I’ll tell them I don’t want you to. They’ll respect my wishes even if you don’t!”

Nacho didn't turn around. “They aren’t going to listen to a damn thing you say in regards to me.”

Lalo scoffed. “How do you know that? Yes, you have Marco’s various fluids floating through your system, but I’m their family. You barely know them.”

Nacho stopped at the edge of the front lawn. “Actually, we’ve been talking."

 _"Talking?_ " Lalo was astonished. "What do you mean? How?”

“On the phone.”

Lalo shook his head in disbelief. “Impossible.”

“Why? They own a phone. And just because they choose not to broadcast every last fucking thought that pops into their heads doesn’t meant they can’t talk.”

In the distance, the gate opened, and the cousins’ car emerged. They’d be there any minute.

“So you told them a bunch of lies to turn them against me,” Lalo said.

Nacho wouldn’t look at him. “I didn’t have to lie,” he said.

 _Oh._ It was like being jabbed in the shoulder again.

“And anyway, they aren’t against you,” Nacho said. “We’re in this together now, all of us. So try to think about someone other than yourself for once.”

Time to change tactics. Lalo got to his knees and took Nacho's hand in his, running his thumb over the ring. "You want me to beg? I'm begging. Please don't do this. _Please_."

Nacho rolled his eyes. "For Christ's sake, Lalo. Stop embarrassing yourself. You aren't getting your way."

So much for that. Lalo let Nacho pull him to his feet. At least that glint had disappeared. “You’ll come first,” Nacho said, almost gently. “But I need them, too.”

Lalo felt sick.

The car pulled up and stopped. Lalo stayed where he was as Nacho approached them. Marco got out of the passenger’s side while Nacho leaned in the driver’s window, presumably telling Leonel where to park, and Leonel headed off.

Lalo held his breath as Nacho and Marco stood together on the lawn. Would Nacho kiss him, and turn back to Lalo and smirk? Would they laugh at him, an old, injured animal unable to defend what was his? Or would they sneer in disgust at his helplessness?

Marco laid a hand on Nacho’s shoulder. Nacho heaved a sigh and shuddered, like Atlas might if someone offered to hold the world for a little while.

Anger flared blazing hot in Lalo for moment, but just as quickly burned itself out, a fire with no fuel. _Familia lo es todo_. The first lesson he learned, drilled into Salamanca children from birth. How could he hate his family? Sunlight glinted off Nacho’s ring as he raised his hand and placed it over Marco’s. Lalo’s heart twisted in an indescribable way when he realized that command encompassed Nacho now, too.

They waited, saying nothing, until Leonel came back, and then the three of them headed toward the house. Lalo thought they might completely ignore him, but Marco stopped and stood before Lalo. He brushed Lalo’s shoulder. “Let me see.”

When Lalo didn’t respond, Marco unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it aside. It felt strangely intimate to be doing this in the front yard, but it wasn’t as if there was anyone to see. Marco carefully peeled the bandage back and touched the skin around the bullet hole.

“It’s healing well,” he said with authority. “The scar will be small.” Lalo wondered how he knew, given that his specialty was putting bullets in people, not healing them. But then again, he and Leonel most likely had a lot of experience being shot, and taking care of each other.

Marco replaced the bandage, then did up his shirt again. They all went inside together.

Rita brought refreshment to the patio while Nacho went over with the twins who he thought would be accepting of the regime change, and who might cause problems. Marco and Leonel said nothing, as usual, but they listened carefully, their expressions serious.

Lalo wondered suddenly if he could remember either of them smiling. They were normal little boys, he recalled, and laughed and played like children do. But Salamanca upbringing had hardened them at some point. Lalo and his sisters had an unusually soft childhood compared with other Salamanca children because of their mother’s influence, but other Salamanca wives deferred to their husbands in the raising of killers.

What was Nacho’s childhood like? Was there ever a time when he was a carefree boy, or had he always been this serious? Had his mother’s illness made him grow up too quickly? Was his father present for him after she died, or did he have to raise himself? Lalo didn’t know, because he never cared enough to ask—not about that, or anything else.

No wonder Nacho was so angry.

***

A few hours later, the plaza bosses started to arrive. Their fancy cars rolled in, one at a time, and the men spilled out. There was an impressive performance of anguish at the death of Eladio. They cried with despair at the sight of his broken body, and competed for who could make the bloodiest vow of vengeance.

Nacho carefully engineered the conversation, guiding the discussion until it reached the conclusions he wanted. It was impressive the way he lied. Lalo found a strange comfort in how easily the others were fooled. It made him feel less stupid. The whole time, Marco and Leonel stood on either side of him, hands folded in front of them but at full attention. They barely blinked. Lalo caught the bosses looking at them nervously. No one liked being in their presence for too long. Maybe that’s why everyone was so quick to agree.

As Nacho had predicted, no one had an issue with Lalo assuming leadership. One by one, they swore fealty to him. He tried to pick out which ones were sincere. He used to think he was good at it, but he doubted himself now. His shoulder hurt, and he was tired.

Dinner was served, and then drinks. Narcos never let a gruesome death get in the way of a good time, and soon they were laughing and swapping stories. Usually, Lalo loved these kinds of gatherings. But already, the others were treating him differently. The toadying had started. He hated it. But at long last, they began to leave. Eladio’s body was taken to be given to his family, who would arrange the funeral. It made Lalo exhausted to think about, because along with Eladio’s relations and grieving mistresses and various bastard children, he himself would be the center of attention—their new king. He had never wanted power and target it would paint on his back. Too bad for him.

César was among the last to leave. “So you like the guys I brought? They’re all tough bastards—smart, too. Any assassin is going to have a hard time getting by them!” He glanced over at Marco and Leonel. “Although I guess with those two, you aren’t too worried about it, eh? They sticking around?”

“I don’t know,” Lalo said.

“Well, it probably can’t hurt to have extra security for a little while—at least until after the funeral. Although no offense, but I wouldn’t want them around for longer than that. I know they’re your blood but—” He shuddered.

“None taken,” Lalo said.

César considered him. “Are you all right, man? I mean, an assassination attempt would spook anyone, but you seem…well, not yourself.”

Lalo tried to smile. “I’m fine. I’m just tired.” He hesitated. “Truth is, I don’t want to be the new don. You know I like my freedom, and that’s over now.”

“But don’t you see how that makes you perfect? And Eladio…well, not to speak ill of the dead, but it was long since past time due for a regime change. He was decadent, arrogant.” César patted him on his uninjured arm. “You’ll do better. And you’ve got Nacho—he’ll take care of things.”

Lalo looked across the patio to his _serpientito_. Nacho was deep in conversation with one of the other bosses, but he glanced up briefly, as if he could feel Lalo’s gaze. He nodded before returning to his conversation.

“I’m sure he will,” Lalo muttered.

César rubbed his neck. “Me and Veronica wanted you to know that we think it’s good. That you have a…partner, I mean.”

Lalo stared at him. Was he saying what Lalo thought he was saying? “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s not good for you to be alone.” He cleared his throat. “You know that we’re loyal to you no matter what.”

“Thanks,” Lalo said faintly. He had one true ally, at least. He wondered what César would say if he knew the truth. Or Lalo wouldn’t even have to tell the total truth. Say that he found out about some other betrayal. Nacho was right that Lalo would look weak, but that wouldn’t matter to César. With the strength of his plaza, Lalo could push Nacho out, even with his cousins by his side.

But he didn’t want that. The thought made him sick.

It was midnight before they were all finally gone. Nacho gave orders to their new guards—they were a mean-looking lot, not like the men Lalo had employed. Their names slipped out of his mind as soon as he heard them. They weren’t his men, they were Nacho’s—he could deal with them. He went to get them settled in their new quarters.

Lalo was sitting at the fire pit when Nacho returned, idly looping his necklace around his finger. They stared at each other for a long moment.

“You turning in?” Lalo asked. He couldn’t muster the courage to say what he really wanted to.

Nacho rubbed his face and nodded. “You?”

He shrugged.

“Don’t forget to take your medicine,” he said. He turned to go inside.

Lalo got to his feet. “Wait.”

Nacho turned back. “Yeah?”

Lalo opened his mouth. _No te vayas con ellos—ven a la cama conmigo. Te amo con todo mi corazón. Prometo que no volveré a lastimarte.†_

It’s what he would have said if he had more courage. “Nothing,” he said instead. “Good night, _amorcito_.”

Nacho disappeared into the house without another word. Lalo sat back down. He grabbed the poker and agitated the fire, making the flames crackle. Images of the three of them flickered in his mind, no matter how hard he tried not to think about it. He jabbed at the fire, again and again, and then threw the poker aside as he got to his feet. He should leave it alone, but he had to see it for himself. Maybe that would banish all the what-ifs, and he’d only have to deal with one image he couldn’t get out of his head instead of a thousand.

He went inside and crept down the hall. Nacho’s door was still open. Lalo’s heart raced as he moved slowly and silently forward, until he was close enough to peek inside.

Marco and Nacho sat together on the bed, locked in an embrace. They weren’t naked, but their shirts were open, and Marco had his hand inside, over Nacho’s heart. Nacho’s face was wet. Had he been crying?

Suddenly, Leonel stepped in Lalo’s line of sight. Lalo froze, feeling like an intruder in his own home. Their gazes met for a few heartbeats, then Leonel reached for the door and slowly shut it.

Lalo staggered to his room. He couldn’t stay there, obviously—it was just down the hall. He’d hear everything—it had been a bad idea to see. But he had to change his bandage and take his medicine. He grabbed what he needed and got out of there as fast as he could.

He wandered outside, unsure of where to be. Normally, he wouldn’t worry about where to sleep since he needed so little, but he was tired. He headed for the guest house.

The smell hit him as he opened the door. The place had been cleaned, but dead body wasn’t a smell that went away overnight, no matter how hard you scrubbed. And there was no getting out blood after it had set for a while. The white carpet in the living room was soaked in it.

It wasn’t so bad in the master bedroom, which was toward the back. He unloaded his supplies in the bathroom, then unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off. His shoulder screamed at him—he should have taken another pain pill earlier. He remedied that by taking two now. He peeled back the bandage.

Marco was right. It did look better.

The sound of someone opening the front door nearly made him jump out of his skin. His heart skipped a beat—had Nacho come to find him? But no, it was Ciro.

“ _Patrón_?” he called. “Are you in here?”

Lalo sighed and considered whether or not to answer. “In the back,” he finally said.

A few moments later and Ciro appeared in the bathroom door. “I saw you come in here. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said shortly. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

Ciro just shrugged. “Can I help you with that?”

Lalo hesitated before relenting. He handed Ciro the salve and the tape and gauze. Ciro applied the salve gingerly and then the bandage. When he was finish, his hand lingered. “Does it hurt?”

Lalo pushed his hand off and rolled his eyes. “What do you think, _cabrón_?”

That should have been enough to send the puppy scampering, but instead Ciro surged forward and kissed him on the mouth. It caught him by surprise and he fumbled for a moment before pushing Ciro off. “No,” he said firmly.

“Why not?” Ciro cried. “ _He_ doesn’t care.”

Lalo chewed on that for a minute. “Wait—did Nacho send you?”

Ciro didn’t answer, but his face flushed. Lalo heaved a sigh and rubbed his face. _Dios mío, Nacho_. _Por qué?_ He picked up his shirt and pulled it on. “Come on—we need to talk.”

By necessity, they had to stay in the bedroom, but there were two armchairs by the bookcase in the back. Lalo bade him sit while he remained standing. “Did he order you here?”

“No,” Ciro said, almost sullen. “He just said that you might need company tonight.” He took a deep breath like he was screwing up his courage. “Because he’s fucking your cousins, isn’t he? It’s sick!”

Lalo pointed at him. “That’s enough of that. Don’t forget your place—it’s not for you to judge.”

Ciro crossed his arms and slouched, his eyes wet. “Why don’t you want me anymore?”

“I think the question should be why do _you_ want _me_.” He looked to the circular scar on Ciro’s neck from his cigarette. It was likely to be permanent. “I treat you like shit, _perrito_.”

Ciro wiped his eyes. “Only since he came. You didn’t used to.”

It was true. Lalo remembered when he met Ciro at Don Eladio’s place. Business had gone on all day, leaving Lalo bored and irritable. And then all of a sudden, he caught sight of this improbably adorable cartel guard. It had been like coming across a perfectly ripe peach on a hot summer’s day. Of course he had plucked it.

And of course Ciro had been swept away. It was no fun to simply order someone into bed. No, Lalo liked to seduce, to make his conquests desire him. He turned the full force of his charm onto poor Cirito, and of course the boy was overwhelmed, swooning in his arms, his eyes shining with adoration. Lalo couldn’t remember—had he made promises? Well—he did bring him home. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Why not keep a sweet little peach like him around for refreshment on tedious summer days?

He hadn’t thought of him once when he was in Albuquerque, because he’d found Nacho. He’d been bored then too.

“You deserve better than this,” Lalo said.

“So do you!” Ciro insisted. “He’s treating you horribly—shooting you? Lying to you? Sleeping with your cousins? He’s way worse than you’ve ever been to me. Why would he treat you like this?”

Lalo sighed and sank to the other chair. “Oh, he has his reasons.”

“And you’re just going to take it?”

“Yes. Because I have not always behaved the way I should, and I feel…” He snapped his fingers, searching for the word.

“…guilty?” Ciro said.

“Yes!” Lalo said. “Guilty! And so whatever he needs, he gets from now on. And if that’s fucking my cousins, so be it. And I’m sorry, _perrito_ ,” he added gently. “But I’m not interested in anyone else.”

Ciro sniffed, but he didn’t start crying. “Don’t send me away. I don’t want to sleep in the same place as those men.”

No, Lalo didn’t imagine he would. How had he stumbled into this life? It was baffling. He’d need to find somewhere else for him. Maybe send him to Nacho’s dad. But bringing that up now might cause actual tears, and he didn’t have the patience for that. He spotted a deck of cards on the bookshelf and picked it up. “You know how to play conquian?”

Ciro’s brow furrowed in confusion, but he nodded.

“Then let’s play.” Lalo started to deal. “And don’t let me win. I'm tired of it. ”

***

Lalo sent Ciro to bed a couple hours later—a different room in the guest house. He managed some sleep himself—how tedious it was to need so much rest, but he did feel better when he got up. He took a shower and changed his bandage himself. It was a little easier today.

It was still early, and no one else was up. He headed to the kitchen and started coffee, then rifled through the fridge to see what would make for a good breakfast. Yolanda came in at one point, but he sent her back to bed. She had worked hard yesterday and deserved a break. Besides, he enjoyed cooking. He’d make a nice, big breakfast— _chilaquiles_ sounded like just the thing.

He was chopping onions when someone came up behind him. Strong, familiar arms wrapped around his waist, and a head rested between his shoulder blades.

Lalo set down his knife. “Good morning, _amorcito_.”

“ _Amorcito_ , huh?” Nacho said, his voice muffled. “I was sure I’d be _serpientito_ this morning.”

Lalo smiled and turned around. “You look rested.” It was true. The bags under his eyes had vanished. “Where are the boys?”

“Packing. They’re going home.”

Lalo was surprised. “Already?”

“Yeah. We thought it was for the best.”

 _And why is that?_ Lalo almost asked, but decided he’d rather not know. “Well, I’ll make sure they’re fed before they go. A nice family breakfast.”

Nacho snorted. “Sure.” He paused. “Where’s Ciro?”

“Sleeping. Which he did in a separate bed, after we spent the evening playing cards. I have no interest in puppies, Nachito.” His voice dropped to a murmur. “I want only you.”

Nacho met his gaze. “Okay.” He stretched up and kissed him. “I’ll go set the table.”

Lalo returned to his cutting board, whistling a tune. The dawn crept in through the windows as he cooked. The nice thing about dawns was that there was a new one every day. The world could change under fresh light. Or at least, it could feel like it. And wasn’t that what mattered?

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

†Don't go with them—come to bed with me. I love you with all my heart. I promise I won't hurt you again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my defense, it's kind of canon that Nacho is poly, right? 🤷 And now he has a Salamanca harem. I think he deserves it.
> 
> Next chapter is "De Noche Amarra Tu Corazón Al Mío (Tie Your Heart At Night to Mine)", which is from Marco's POV. It's skippable because it covers the same events as this chapter. I just really wanted to explore their dynamic and unload all of my Marco and Leonel headcanons ~~and also write another threesome.~~ Then after that we're back to the ABQ with Mike, and he is going to have some _opinions_ on this mess.
> 
> But I'm going to be taking a (brief!) break from this fic to work on a couple things for Lacho Week 2020, which is July 13 - 19th. Head over to [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/lacho-week) to check it out - I'm so excited! My main story will be for the domestic day. Just came up with the title today - "All the Better to Eat You With," and it will come with an illustration. :D I'm also going to try to write some shorts to see if I'm capable of keeping something under 2000 words lol. 
> 
> And you can follow me at seraphtrevs there if you haven't already - I post snippets and stuff.


	9. De Noche Amarra Tu Corazón Al Mío (Tie Your Heart At Night to Mine)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Nacho's coup, the good boys arrive to offer their support.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes before we start:
> 
> 1) This chapter contains a Marco/Nacho/Leonel threesome. It's skippable since it covers the events of last chapter, but from Marco's perspective. However, I would recommend scrolling to the end (after the fourth line break) to see the where things stand as we head into the finale two chapters.
> 
> 2) I have been blessed with not one, but two amazing artists who have drawn pics for my fics. I figured out how to add pics to fic, so with the artists' kind permission, I've added them to their respective installments. 
> 
> Krokorobin/Rrismo's gorgeous work can be found in [Only You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23050807) and [Fire Bug](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23559112). 
> 
> And asdllkshfad gifted me with [this beautiful piece for Chapter Four of Reign in Hell](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23865478/chapters/58229353) on Lacho week!
> 
> 3) You can read the full Pablo Neruda poem from which this fic takes its title [here.](https://rhymings.com/pablo-neruda/sonnet-lxxix-tie-your-heart-at-night-to-mine-love/)

_Tie your heart at night to mine, love,_  
_and both will defeat the darkness_

\- Pablo Neruda

Marco was fresh off a kill the first time Nacho called.

A rabbit, for dinner. He and Leonel lived in the desert, a bleached place of shrubs and bones, but there was life there still, hiding. Marco could sniff it out as well as any hound. He had just skinned it and was about to gut it when the phone rang.

Leonel had told him Nacho would call soon. _Our brother is lost_ , he’d said. _We will have to show him the way_.

Marco wiped the blood from his hands and answered. Nacho hesitated before he spoke. He was coming to Mexico—their cousin too. Business. There was something there unsaid. That was alright. Nacho would tell them when he was ready.

The second time Nacho called, it was the dead of night. Leonel was asleep beside him. He didn’t stir at the sound of the phone. The call wasn’t for him.

He and Lalo were on a tour, Nacho said. He wanted to get to know the business, now that he had Don Eladio’s blessing. What was Marco’s opinion on this minor faction of the cartel? Marco gave his answer briefly, and then waited for Nacho to ask the real question. But he still wasn’t ready. Marco stayed on the phone as Nacho’s voice tapered off. He sat in silence with Nacho, breathing with him, being with him. They stayed that way for quite a while.

Finally, Nacho murmured a goodbye. Marco replaced the phone on the nightstand and curled around his brother, the way they always slept. There were no eyes in the desert to judge them.

The third time Nacho called, he told them the things Lalo had done. Lalo, their cousin, the only one who understood them. Lalo, with a grin as wide as a skull’s. Lalo, who was often careless with his claws.

“If you ask, our answer will be yes,” Marco said gently.

Nacho’s breath hitched, and then he hung up the phone.

The fourth time he called, he finally asked what he had been trying to ask since the first call. “I need you, please. Will you come?”

Marco cradled the phone against his face. “Of course we will, brother.”

* * *

They made an offering to Santa Muerta before they left. Leonel gathered marigolds, yellow as the sun. Marco found a coyote’s skull. They took them to the shrine in the back of their simple house. The skeletal figure of Santa Meurte stood with her arms open, ready to receive offerings and give blessings. Leonel put a flower in her grinning mouth. The others he placed at her feet. Marco nestled the skull among the blooms.

They knelt, and Leonel began the prayer: _Our Santa Muerte, who will come for us all, kind and gentle be your kiss. Holy Death, I offer these prayers for you. From the altar in my heart, to your ears, may you find the words sweet, and their meanings true…_

Leonel rarely spoke except to pray. It was why he received her visions, which he shared sometimes with Marco when the night was darkest and they were lying in each other’s arms. She revealed to him how they die. It was far from home, up in the North. Marco will go first. Concrete and cars, Marco’s arrogance, a lucky shot, and then he’ll be in Santa Meurte’s arms at last.

It pained him that he would leave Leonel alone. But not too long, Leonel assured him. A day at most. And what’s a day in comparison with eternity?

Marco lit two candles—one red for Nacho, and one black for his enemies—their enemies. Next, Marco lit the tobacco and wafted it over her form. The room grew hazy as Santa Meurte was bathed in smoke. She seemed pleased. She should be. No one made the kind of offerings they did.

Most of her worshippers forgot her age, for she was older than the colonizers. Before them, she demanded blood. Over the centuries, she became benevolent, accepting flowers and cigarettes, money and liquor. But Marco and Leonel knew that she missed the blood sometimes, and so they gave it to her, soaking the earth and slaking her thirst.

In turn, she protected them. They wore her emblems on the toes of their boots so she would guide their steps. They were fearless because they knew she would protect them, up until the glorious day when they would join her at last.

But not yet. They still had work to do.

***

They left just before dawn, gliding across the desert as the sun swallowed the stars. They wore their best suits. Leonel brought his knife, Marco brought his axe. Their trunk was full of guns, although Marco didn't think they'd need them. It sounded like Nacho had things well in hand.

He and his brother never paid much mind to the politics of the cartel. Their one concern was protecting the interests of their family. Every Salamanca had a role, and theirs was to be weapons wielded against their enemies. Leave the decisions to those best suited to make them.

Although if Marco was being honest, the decision makers of the Salamanca clan were not what they once were. Lalo did well enough, but lacked the ambition to truly promote their family. Don Hector had been locked away for seventeen years and seemed out of place. Tuco was insane even by Salamanca standards. So many other Salamancas were dead—their father, Tuco’s father, whole branches of the Salamancas, gone. They needed new blood.

And suddenly, there was Nacho, who had Marco’s blood running through his veins. He had risked his life in turn for Marco and Leonel, in spite of his injuries, during the shootout with the Espinozas. Marco had a feeling that Nacho was family, but hadn’t known for sure until he and Leonel visited Lalo and found that Lalo had made Nacho his, which meant he was theirs. He was a Salamanca, as much as anyone born to the family, and already he had done more to advance their position than anyone had in years. The Juárez Cartel was now the Salamanca Cartel thanks to Nacho. Marco and Leonel would help keep it that way.

However, there was a score that needed to be settled. There was one crime among the family that must always be answered with firm discipline—disrespecting your kin. _La familia lo es todo_ was their most sacred value. And it meant nothing if Salamancas turned on one another. Leonel had made the mistake once as a child. He wished his brother were dead. Tío Hector had held Marco’s face under water, nearly drowning him, to show Leonel the severity of his crime—to wish ill on his own brother. From then on, Leonel was more careful with his words. And the two of them never fought again.

So when Nacho had explained Lalo’s misdeeds, Marco and Leonel were in agreement that Lalo’s punishment was just. As a Salamanca, Nacho was due respect. It sounded like Lalo had learned his lesson. But the experience had been hard on them both, and now Nacho was carrying the weight of their family on his shoulders while Lalo licked his wounds. He’d sounded so lost on the phone, so unsure, so alone.

Marco and Leonel would make him understand that to be a Salamanca meant you were never alone. And they would make their cousin understand that there would be no more of his games.

***

Neither Marco nor Leonel paid much attention to what was said at the meeting. Instead, they observed, catching the things that most people missed because they were too focused on words, which were often tools of deceit. It was harder to lie with your face, your body. Marco could always smell them out.

Nacho had done his job well. No one suspected that the “assassination attempt” was a lie. The prevailing mood was one of confusion, with an undercurrent of both fear and relief. Fear that what was done to Don Eladio might be done to them, and relief that someone had stepped in to take charge of things. Marco made note of one or two men who seemed possibly resentful of the regime change, but for the most part, they were docile.

None more docile than Lalo, who barely spoke. He kept casting mournful looks at Nacho, and then sullen ones at Marco and Leonel, although his gaze would skitter away when either of them returned it. Repentant, maybe? Or at least, resigned. Good. A defiant Lalo would have been difficult, but there was no fight in him, love-wounded as he was. Nacho hid his wounds better under a mask of stone, but he was hurting, too. Marco could make out the hairline fractures in that stone when he looked at Lalo, a little crease of concern on his brow.

A mess, all around. But messes could be tidied, and wounds could heal.

Soon enough, the others were gone. Lalo retreated to the patio, sitting in front of a fire, staring into it like it might hold answers. Marco and Leonel went inside, leaving Nacho and Lalo to say their good nights in private.

When Nacho came in, his mask had started to crumble as a tremor ran through him, a foreshock. He opened his mouth to say something, but Marco took his hand. “No more words now. Come with us.”

He led Nacho into the bedroom, with Leonel following behind. Nacho trembled as Marco bade him sit on the bed, then sat down beside him.

Marco drew him close, resting their foreheads together. Leonel sat on his other side, a hand on one leg. “Let go, brother,” Marco said. “We will catch you.”

With a great shudder, he collapsed into Marco’s arms, weeping. Leonel wrapped his arms around him from behind, and they cradled him between them, holding him through it, making sure he didn’t shake apart. When the worst of it passed, Nacho surged up and kissed Marco desperately, fumbling at the buttons of his shirt with clumsy fingers.

Marco gently pushed his hand away and undid the buttons himself, then made quick work of Nacho’s shirt, all without breaking their kiss. He pressed a palm against Nacho’s chest, feeling the thud of his heart.

The door creaked. Nacho was too lost to notice, but Leonel got up and shut the door and locked it. Their cousin could wait till morning. Marco pushed Nacho’s shirt from his shoulders before shedding his own. Leonel shed his shirt and knelt before them, pulling off Nacho’s shoes and socks, laying a kiss on each foot as it was bared. His fingers next moved to Nacho’s fly.

Marco stood and disrobed as Leonel finished undressing Nacho. When Nacho was naked at last, Marco pulled Leonel to him and helped him out of his clothes. They shared a kiss—a private moment, reminding each other of the primacy of their love, before they turned to Nacho as one.

On the bed, they kept Nacho between them, Leonel behind him and Marco in front. Marco gave Nacho a few more kisses before encouraging him to turn around and embrace Leonel. Marco and Nacho’s connection was stronger, but Marco wanted him to know Leonel’s love too, silent and strong as an oak. Nacho could use his stability.

While they wrapped around each other, Marco left the bed and searched for lube. He set it on the nightstand and got into bed again, laying kisses on the nape of Nacho’s neck, his back, his shoulders. Nacho moaned and reached behind him, fumbling a caress along Marco’s thigh, trying to pull him closer. He broke away from Leonel and lolled his head back. “I want you both in me,” he gasped. “Please.”

 _Please_. Marco wanted to tell him he didn’t have to beg, not ever with them. Leonel pulled him back into a kiss and Marco slicked his fingers and moved them between Nacho’s legs. One, and then two. Leonel moved down and took Nacho’s cock in his mouth as Marco stretched him further, taking his time. Only when he felt every last bit of tension dissolve did he slip a third finger in, and finally a fourth.

With a nudge, Marco encouraged Leonel to get on his back. He slicked Leonel's cock and then positioned Nacho over it, who immediately sank down with a sigh. Nacho moved, riding him as Leonel moaned, his hands on Nacho’s hips, holding him steady. Marco took a moment to take in the sight of the two of them before he embraced Nacho from behind and pressed inside.

The world vanished, everything else falling away except the three of them. They moved like the ocean tide, cresting until they crashed together on a secret shore that no one else could know.

Nacho fell into a daze before Marco even pulled out. Leonel held him while Marco visited the bathroom and brought back a warm, wet washcloth. They slept the way they had the first night they were together, with Nacho in between them. Marco spread his hand over Nacho’s heart. It warmed him. Marco was an agent of death, but Nacho was the one exception—he gave life to him rather than taking it away. A tenderness that he’d never known before filled him for this spark of life that he’d struck like a match in the darkness.

Nacho needed them, but perhaps they needed Nacho too.

***

Marco woke with empty arms. He soon found Nacho sitting in a chair by the window, the early morning light shining on his face. Leonel was still asleep; Marco took pains not to wake him as got out of bed and joined him.

The tension that had held Nacho in its grasp was gone, but he still looked lost. Marco put a hand on his shoulder; Nacho looked up and smiled, although it was pained.

“Something troubles you,” Marco said.

Nacho sighed. “I don’t know what happens now. I needed last night—I needed you. But Lalo…” He trailed off as he struggled to articulate. “I’ve been so angry for such a long time.”

“Are you still angry?”

The question took him aback. “No,” he said. He seemed surprised.

“Then you got the justice you needed, and now you both will move past this.”

“What if we can’t?” His voice was small.

Marco crouched down beside him. “You will move past it because you must. You’re a Salamanca now. He is yours and you are his.” He put hand on his chest. “I can feel it here. Can you?”

Nacho didn’t say anything, but his eyes went wide. “And what about you, me and Leonel?”

“Call and we’ll be there.” Marco pulled his hand away and stood. “But right now, it’s time for me and my brother to go. You two have work to do.”

Nacho rubbed his face before standing. “I’ll go find him.”

He and Leonel took their time getting ready. When they finally emerged, they found Nacho and Lalo sitting at the kitchen table, upon which was a full breakfast spread.

Lalo and Nacho were in such a deep conversation that it took them a minute to notice they were there. Lalo got up and smiled, gesturing to the table. “Boys! Please, sit—I made breakfast.”

When the meal was done, Nacho took Leonel to get the car while Lalo helped Marco with their bags. They brought them to the front yard as they waited for Leonel to bring the car around.

Lalo cleared his throat. “Nacho and I were talking, and it seems like you have a—” He waved his hand vaguely. “—a thing. Which is fine with me. I mean, he’s already so much better—not so angry. If you’re what he needs, so be it. Especially if it keeps me from getting shot again!” He laughed, sounding more like himself.

“He deserves respect, primo.”

Lalo held up his good hand in surrender. “I know! I fucked up. I don’t think I deserved to get shot over it, and I don’t like that he forced the issue with this whole cartel business…” Lalo shrugged one shoulder. “But what’s done is done. And he said he wants things to be better between us. That’s what I want, too.”

Marco nodded. It was good to hear.

Nacho and Leonel returned in the car. Marco loaded the bags in, and then it was time to say goodbye. Lalo hugged Leonel, then Marco.

“You’re welcome here any time,” Lalo said. “Just… not too often.” He shot Nacho a look. “Right?”

Nacho smiled a little. “No, not too often.”

Nacho embraced Marco. “Thank you.” He turned to Leonel. “Both of you.”

Marco and Leonel met each others' eyes, and then inclined their heads. It was the least they could do for family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two more chapters! 😱😱😱 Next time, we're back in the ABQ with Mike and Gus.
> 
> PS - I could use a little encouragement as I gear up to finish this thing, so if you enjoyed this, I'd love to hear from you!


	10. The Pleasures of Surrender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to asdllkshfad on tumblr for inspiring me with their beautiful art and letting me feature it here!
> 
> *Note - the Only You series branched off from canon early in season 5, which means that neither Domingo nor Lalo went to jail.

They spent the week in bed.

Or rather, Lalo spent the week in bed, but Nacho often joined him, not just to make love but to watch TV, eat meals, or nap. Lalo did a lot of napping, almost like he was making up for all of the years of sleep deprivation. He’d never realized how luxurious sleep could be, especially with Nacho as his pillow, warm and solid beneath him.

Sleep wasn’t the only pleasure he’d discovered. There was something beautiful in surrender. He’d seen it from the other side—Nacho’s submission was what drew Lalo to him from the start. All that strength carefully laid at Lalo’s feet like a sacrifice to an ancient god. It set Lalo’s whole being ablaze.

Now it was Lalo’s turn to offer his heart on a platter and hope that Nacho found it pleasing. He seemed to. All of his habitual tension had melted away. The gates of his fortress had been thrown open, and Lalo had at last been let inside. This Nacho’s laughter came easier, and his smiles were more frequent. He remained his serious Ignacio, but he seemed…happy. Now that Lalo knew what a happy Nacho looked like, it made him realize how miserable he’d been.

How had he missed it before? But no, he wouldn’t dwell. Lalo couldn’t return to the past even if he wanted to. Regret had never been his style anyway.

And if doubts slithered through his mind sometimes—about how Nacho was only biding his time until Lalo was no longer of use to him, or if his heart ached when images of Nacho in Marco’s embrace flooded back to him as they kissed… Well, what of it?

People had lived with worse.

***

“When are we going back to Albuquerque?” Lalo asked one night. They were in bed, eating ice cream and half watching some old movie. Lalo wore his fluffiest robe, and Nacho was in his underwear.

Nacho grabbed the remote and shut the TV off. “Depends on you. How’s your shoulder?”

“It hurts, but I suspect it will for a long while. Give me another week and I’ll manage.” Lalo cocked his head. “We heading for a fight, _serpientito_?”

“Not yet, no. We need things to stabilize, get people used to the new order. Fring’s going to want things smooth, too, so I doubt he’ll try anything for now.”

Lalo licked his spoon. “So Fring is not our ally.”

Nacho gave him a look. “Of course he isn’t. Trust me, the first chance I get I’m going to end that sadistic freak.”

The intensity of Nacho’s response surprised him. Naturally Nacho would hold a grudge about Fring’s threat against his papá, but was there more to it than that?

Nacho shut his eyes briefly and continued in a more measured tone. “But I recently realized that I have a habit of going off half-cocked, and it always bites me in the ass. So, we wait.”

“I agree. I like you full-cocked.” He put a hand on Nacho’s crotch. Nacho rolled his eyes and batted it away, but he was smiling. Lalo liked Nacho’s smile. He set his ice cream bowl aside. “So, what’s the plan? How long are we staying?”

Nacho set his bowl aside, too. “Not too long—a few weeks maybe. Gotta get back to start your coronation tour.”

Lalo groaned. “Do we have to?”

“Stop complaining—you like those people. And they like you.”

It was true enough. “Who are we going to put in charge north of the border?”

"Tuco, like we'd planned."

“But _amorcito_ , he’s in prison.”

“For now. But there’s this lawyer I know—I think that with the right amount of incentive, he could get Tuco out early.”

“Really? How come Hector didn’t call on this lawyer before?”

“Well, he’s not in the game yet. But trust me, I’ve seen him in action. He got me out of custody once, and I looked pretty fucking guilty.”

“Were you?”

“No. He actually solved the case to get me out. He’s tenacious—and greedy. We scare him a little and then dangle some cash, and he’ll do whatever we say. And he knows Tuco already—has a way with him, actually.”

Lalo’s eyebrows shot up. There was more to that story, but it could wait. “So we get Tuco out of jail. I was counting on his time in prison to get him sober. He's of no use to us if he starts using the minute he's out."

“I've thought of that. We just need to give him a strong lieutenant to help him stay in line."

"Have anyone in mind?"

"Domingo.”

Lalo rolled his eyes. He thought as much. “Tuco will eat that little mouse alive.”

“He’s stronger than you give him credit for. Smarter, too, when he’s not trying to impress people.” Nacho gave him a cool look. “I think you cured him of that.”

Lalo coughed. The less said about that, the better. "You really think he can handle it?"

“Yes. I managed Tuco for years. I can teach him.” Nacho leaned in for a kiss. “Managing Salamancas is a specialty of mine.” His eyes sparkled. Teasing.

Lalo chuckled. “Is that so?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Nacho undid the tie of his robe and helped Lalo slip it off his shoulders. Once he was naked, Nacho kissed his neck once, twice, before trailing down to his collar bone, and then lower.

Lalo moaned as Nacho swallowed him down, his mouth still a little cold from the ice cream. Lazy pleasure enveloped him. They did all of their fucking with Lalo flat on his back this past week. He was eager to get back to a more active role, but being taken care of was nice too.

Lalo’s orgasm hit him hard, but it was spoiled by a twinge in his shoulder. He let out a yelp. Nacho pulled off of him with a quizzical look. “You okay?”

“Shoulder,” Lalo said through clenched teeth. “Hurts.”

Nacho kissed his thigh. “I’ll get your pills.”

He headed to the bathroom and returned a few moments later with a couple of pills and a glass of water. Lalo swallowed them. Drugs never held much appeal for him—he was no Tuco. But he would have to be careful not to get too dependent.

 _But maybe he wants you addicted. Easier to control you that way._ That little snake of doubt again. He did his best to ignore it.

Nacho slid back into bed. Lalo glanced down at his crotch—his cock wasn’t fully erect, but it showed some interest. “You want me to..?”

“Nah.” He yawned and lay down. “I’m beat. Would you get the light?”

Lalo switched off the bedside lamp. He rested his head on Nacho’s chest, listening to the drumbeat of his heart. It felt so good to lie with his _amorcito_ in the warm, dark cocoon of their bed, even with the pain in his shoulder.

But sleep evaded him as unease coiled in his stomach. He nudged Nacho. “You still awake?”

Nacho hummed sleepily. “Sort of. What is it?”

“Is there something about the Fring situation you aren’t telling me?”

Nacho sucked in a breath and was very still for a moment. Lalo pulled away as Nacho sat up and reached over him to turn on the light. “What do you mean?”

“You just seem…I don’t know, worked up about it.”

Nacho stared at him. “He had a gun to my dad’s head. He made me spy on you. Of course I’m ‘worked up.’”

Lalo sighed in annoyance. “If we’re going to run a cartel together, I need you to let me in. I’m of no use to you if you keep things from me.” When Nacho didn’t respond, he softened his tone. “Haven’t I proven myself to you, _amorcito_? I have given you everything.”

Nacho rubbed his face. “Know how he recruited me? He killed Arto—one of our guys—right in front of me. Fucking ambushed us and wrapped a plastic bag around his head. He made me get on my knees and watch as Arto slowly asphyxiated. I when I say he ambushed us, I don’t mean his men. He did it himself. He enjoyed it.”

Nacho shut his eyes for a moment before continuing. “And then he had me shot to fake the Espinoza robbery. Right in the fucking gut. I lay in the desert sun for an hour before Marco and Leonel found me. I didn’t know it was possible to feel so much pain.”

Lalo was surprised. “The robbery was faked?”

“Yeah. Marco and Leonel were tricked into doing his dirty work. And there was nothing I could say.” He met Lalo’s gaze. “They don’t know. They’d hate to know he fooled them, and I don’t want them going after him yet. You won’t tell them, will you?”

Lalo shook his head. What would be the point?

Nacho hesitated before continuing. “There’s more. He told me to get close to you, and then he wanted proof.” He swallowed. “You remember that time I tied you up?”

“Yes,” Lalo said slowly.

“Well, I taped it.”

Lalo blinked. “You…taped it?”

Nacho nodded.

Lalo felt disoriented, as if he misjudged the length of a staircase and took an extra step only to find there was nothing there. “And that time I whipped you… You had me dress up as him. Why?”

“Because I knew it would fuck with him. He has a raging hard-on for me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because when he had me on my knees while Arto died, I could tell he liked it. He told me I was his.” Nacho surprised him with a small smile. “You should have seen his face when I gave him the tape. He looked like, constipated with lust.”

Lalo let out a bark of laughter. To his surprise, he didn’t feel angry. He thought of the usually uptight Fring watching the tape, beating off while he watched Lalo make love to Nacho and wishing desperately that it were him. He laughed again. It was so pathetic. “And that’s also how you knew that he’d accept your proposal to get rid of Eladio.”

Nacho nodded. “It’s a weakness we can exploit. Seeing me with you is going to drive him crazy.”

“So we rub it in his face.” Lalo grinned. “Sounds fun.”

Nacho grinned back. “Why don’t we start now?” He tilted his head, exposing his neck. “Give me a hickey.”

Lalo eagerly complied, worrying the skin of Nacho’s throat. Nacho pulled his cock out of his underwear and started to stroke himself. Lalo kept sucking for a few minutes before pulling back to examine his work. He’d done a good job, thoroughly marking him.

Nacho’s breathing got heavier as he continued to jerk his cock. Lalo’s mind flashed back to right before they’d left for Mexico. They’d engaged in some violent dirty talk which he now realized had been about Fring. Could be fun to do it again. He put his mouth near Nacho’s ear. “We should make another tape.”

Nacho moaned and moved his hand faster. “Not a tape. Kidnap him. Make him watch.”

“We’ll tie him naked to a chair; his skin will chafe as he struggles against the rope.” He nipped his earlobe. “And then what?”

“And then you’ll suck his dick. Get him close to coming and then back off. Over and over till he begs.”

Lalo liked that. If he hadn’t come so recently, he’d be hard. “You want to watch me hurt him? Or you want to do it yourself?”

Nacho laughed a little. “Why not both?”

Lalo’s own breathing quickened. “I’ll hit him until he bleeds. I’ll carve your name into his skin.”

Nacho jerked himself even faster. “Put a bag over his head like he did to Arto. Pull it off at the last second, then do it again.”

“ _Si, mi amor_. Make him pay.”

Nacho’s rhythm became erratic, and a moment later he came. Lalo moved down and sucked his cock clean before coming back up to lay beside him again. He brought Nacho’s hand to his mouth and kissed his ring. “You really are a Salamanca now, aren’t you?”

Nacho laughed too. “Seems like it.”

Lalo switched off the light and lay down, pulling the covers over them. He leaned his forehead against Nacho’s. They breathed together as Lalo lazily caressed him. If he were a cat, he would have been purring.

“Is there anything else I should know?” Lalo murmured.

Nacho didn’t respond right away. Lalo thought he might have fallen asleep, but then he spoke up. “No. There’s nothing else.” He ran a finger over Lalo’s necklace. “He’s going to try to turn us against each other.”

Lalo snorted. “There is nothing he can say that would sway me.”

“You promise?” There was a vulnerable note in his voice.

Lalo’s heart twinged. “ _Si, lo prometon. Te amo, amorcito.”_

Silence for one heartbeat, two. And then very quietly, Nacho said, “ _Te amo, mi amor._ ”

Lalo’s heart swelled, even as the little snake of doubt hissed in his ear. _He doesn’t mean it. He’d say anything to keep you under his control. And once he doesn’t need you anymore, he’ll get rid of you._

Lalo squeezed his eyes shut and pulled Nacho in closer. If he was going to get stabbed in the back, he didn’t want to see it coming. He’d made peace with his death a long time ago. There were far worse ways to go than in the tight embrace of his _serpientito._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, has it really been two months since the last update? Sorry for that! I got really stuck on Mike's chapter - figuring out the logistics of how canon diverged was a headache and Mike's voice is insanely difficult for me, but I think I've got a handle on it now. However, I realized there was something missing - I needed to re-establish Nacho and Lalo's relationship before we head to the endgame. There is one major card that Fring still has in his hand, and he's getting ready to play it. 
> 
> I've also been distracted by my Lalo/Ciro fic [ Lucky to Be Here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25517776/) It's been interesting to explore a different version of Lalo, and creating the character of Ciro has been a lot of fun. That fic is updating regularly - unfortunately, I can't control where the muse takes me lol. But like I said, I think I've got a handle on Mike so hopefully there won't be another long gap!
> 
>  **ETA:** Ha, so the dangers of taking long breaks from WIPs - I forgot that it was their plan all along to put Tuco in charge! I've altered the dialogue slightly to reflect that. Also, I decided to retitle the chapter, so no, you're not going crazy if you've come back for a reread and it's different. 😂


	11. Where Peace and Rest Can Never Dwell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Nacho and Lalo return to Albuquerque, Domingo confronts Nacho about his lies. Power shifts again as Lalo learns to handle Nacho.

_...round he throws his baleful eyes_   
_That witness'd huge affliction and dismay_   
_Mixt with obdurate pride and stedfast hate:_   
_At once as far as Angels kenn he views_   
_The dismal Situation waste and wilde,_   
_A Dungeon horrible, on all sides round_   
_As one great Furnace flam'd, yet from those flames_   
_No light, but rather darkness visible_   
_Serv'd onely to discover sights of woe,_   
_Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace_   
_And rest can never dwell, hope never comes_   
_That comes to all._

\- John Milton, Paradise Lost

Nacho didn’t have a home anymore.

In his life, he’d had his share of shitty apartments, which gradually led to nicer places as his star rose in the cartel, finally cumulating in his monstrous house, showy and soulless.

But the only place he’d ever really thought of as home was his father’s house, where he had grown up. When Nacho had been shot by Fring’s men, it was where he crawled to recover. In the back of his mind, there was always the idea of returning home, as if it would be there forever.

And now he’d destroyed it. Strangers lived in his father’s house now. Would his dad ever come to see his place in Mexico as home? Had Nacho condemned them both to be forever homeless?

He pulled into the driveway of his drug-money house in the early evening. They’d stopped at the grocery store on the way in—Lalo wanted to cook for him. Nacho gathered the groceries as Lalo unlocked the front door. “You hungry?” Lalo asked as they came inside. “Should I start dinner now?”

“Sure,” Nacho said.

Nacho checked the house while Lalo busied himself in the kitchen. A sense of foreboding crept over him as he made his way through the empty rooms. It had only been a few months, but it felt like stepping into the distant past. The Nacho who had lived here had been frightened, powerless, weak. Nacho could still smell the stench of his fear.

As he entered the living room, a memory assaulted him—Domingo, on his knees, a bright red palm print across his tear-streaked face, Lalo’s cock shoved down his throat. Another memory—of himself on his knees, desperately trying to hold it together as Lalo fumed about Amber and Jo.

He shut his eyes and swallowed. The last few weeks had been so different between the two of them. While Lalo recovered, Nacho doted on him—the carrot after the stick, to keep him in line. Except—Nacho had gotten lost in the act himself. When it was just the two of them, without the desperation and fear, it had been…nice. Better than nice, actually. Almost like being in love, for real. But how could it really be love, when it had started so wrong?

His last stop was the bedroom. He went to the walk-in closet and opened the safe, which contained fifty grand in cash and two fake Canadian IDs for himself and his dad. Their tickets out of hell. He left the cash but took the IDs to the bathroom. He sat on the toilet and turned them over in his hand. The one with his picture read _Martin Cavallo_. Was there a universe where Martin was safe and happy in Manitoba with his papa, Felipe? Maybe they started a business together.

Nacho opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of scissors. He cut both of the IDs into pieces and threw the remains in the trash. _Goodbye, Martin and Felipe._

That reminded him. He needed to arrange his father’s “death,” since he was still supposedly sick in the hospital. Lies upon lies.

He returned to the kitchen. Lalo had turned the radio on and was singing along as he cooked. “There he is! Everything as it should be?”

“Yeah.” He sat down at the table.

“I’m making enchiladas—that okay?”

“Sure.”

For a while, the only sounds were the radio and Lalo’s cooking—the staccato chop of the knife on the cutting board, the sizzle of onions and meat in the pan. Only when he finished assembling the enchiladas and had them in the oven did Lalo speak again. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“I was just thinking that I need to arrange for my dad’s ‘death.’ Probably have a memorial service or something too. And I need to get this house on the market while we’re here. No sense in keeping it when we’ve got your family’s place if we need it. I fucking hate this house.” It came out more intense than he intended.

Lalo joined him at the table. “ _Tienes razón, amorcito_. Of course you are right. We’ll go home, to Mexico.” Tentatively, he put his hand on Nacho’s.

Nacho allowed it for a moment before he pulled away. “I’m going to watch some TV.” He left for the living room. Lalo didn’t follow.

Nacho sat on the couch and aimlessly flipped through channels until he found an old Star Trek episode. A half hour later, Lalo came in with dinner, which they ate on the coffee table. He used to do the same with Amber and Jo. He wondered how they were doing. He hoped they were okay.

They went to bed early—there was a lot to be done tomorrow. Lalo curled up behind him and brushed his lips on the back of his neck. In response, Nacho rolled over and kissed him, which led to more. They were both too tired for anything athletic, so they stroked each other to completion. Nacho wasn’t sure he felt better, but sleep came easier.

If this was the bed he’d made for himself, at least it was warm.

* * *

First things first—a meeting with the crew.

Nacho had kept in contact the past few weeks to make sure business was running smoothly. After Fring had taken his revenge, Nacho had called Domingo and told him what to tell the crew—the same story they were telling everyone else. About Juan Bolsa’s “treachery” and Don Eladio’s tragic demise. Nacho lied so much that it barely registered to him anymore, so it surprised him when a dull twinge in his chest as he lied to Domingo. Did he believe it? It was hard to tell over the phone.

They gathered the troops at El Michoacáno. Nacho let Lalo do the pep talk—reassuring everyone that the only changes would be for the better, and how much money they’d all make. He watched their expressions and recognized the thin bravado masking fear and greed. His troops. God, it was pathetic.

All except Domingo. He sat with his shoulders hunched, his gaze cast downward. Nacho’s lips thinned. They needed to talk.

Afterward, Lalo headed out with a few of the guys to do the rounds. They’d agreed to meet up later at a garage owned by _un amigo del cartel_. Lalo assured Nacho it would be the perfect place for a meeting with the lawyer. _It’s important to get people out of their element. Knock them off balance._

Nacho caught Domingo before he left. “Hey, you wanna grab lunch? And then I could use your help on an errand.”

“Sure,” Domingo said, but he wouldn’t meet Nacho’s gaze.

They chose a quiet diner they used to go to in high school. Domingo ordered what he always did—a BLT. Nacho remembered taking him out to lunch once while he came home from college on his winter break. He’d been surprised that Mingo still cut the crust off his sandwich, like he did when they were kids. He did it again now. Some things never changed.

They ate in silence. “That a new ring?” Domingo asked when he’d finished his sandwich.

Nacho twisted it around his finger. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It doesn’t seem like your style.”

“It was a gift.” Nacho wiped his mouth with a napkin. Time to get down to business. “I wanted to let you know that I’ve fixed everything. I can’t tell you exactly what went down, but Mingo—” His mouth stretched into a smile. “I won. Lalo is the figurehead, but the cartel is basically mine.” He waited for Domingo to say something.

“That’s really great, Nacho,” he said eventually.

“I’m one of the most powerful men in the drug trade now,” Nacho continued. “Fuck, I’m one of the most powerful men on the continent, if you think about it. Not bad for a poor kid with no name, huh?”

“Yeah, really great,” he said again.

Nacho frowned at his tone. “We’re getting Tuco out early,” he said, moving on to the next order of business.

Domingo seemed surprised. “Am I not doing a good job?”

Nacho shook his head. “No, no—you’ve been great. That’s not what this is about. The cartel is fragile right now, but the Salamanca name is a constant. It will help assure everyone that things are under control. Albuquerque in particular needs a Salamanca right now.”

“Even one who’s methed out of his mind all the time?”

“He’ll be clean coming out of prison. I know from experience Tuco can stay sober for at least a year with the right handling. I can teach you.”

Domingo gave him an indecipherable look. “You want me to handle him like you handle Lalo?” he finally asked.

Nacho’s nostrils flared. “I don’t handle Lalo. I _own_ Lalo.”

Domingo took his paper napkin and started to tear it into little pieces. “So you two are still…together?”

“Yeah. But it’s different now. He does what I say.” Domingo gave him another look. Skeptical? Worried? “You don’t believe me?”

“It’s not that.” Domingo bit his lip. “What if I told you I wanted out?”

“Out?” Nacho echoed. “Like, out of the game?”

Domingo gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Nacho was taken aback. The thought that Domingo might want out after working so hard to get in had never occurred to him. “I need you,” he said when he recovered. “There’s no one else I can trust with this territory.”

“But I thought you wanted—”

“I gave you plenty of chances to get out,” Nacho interrupted. “It’s too late now.”

Domingo winced, like he had before that first punch when Hector made Nacho beat him. But what else could Nacho do? He had as much of a choice now as he did back then.

Nacho ran a hand over his head. “Listen—you don’t have to worry about Tuco hurting you. If he gets out of control, say the word and I’ll come take care of it. But like I said, I want a name to run this city, and I could use your help. And maybe in a year or so, Krazy-8 will be the right name for Albuquerque, if you play it right. Isn’t that what you always wanted? To be a big shot?”

Domingo shrugged, tore at his napkin some more. Nacho returned his attention to his burger and didn’t try to revive their conversation.

They finished their lunch and headed out. “What errand are we running?” Domingo asked when they were back on the road.

“We need to find a lawyer for Tuco. I’ve got someone in mind. We’re going to pick him up, take him to talk to Lalo.”

“Just talk, right?”

Nacho fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Yeah, just talk.”

The lawyer wasn’t difficult to find. He was ambling down the sidewalk outside the courthouse, yakking away on his cellphone as he licked at an ice cream cone. As Nacho predicted, he didn’t put up much of a fight. Say what you wanted about the guy, but he had excellent instincts for survival.

Once they got to the garage, Nacho let Lalo take over. He hadn’t lost his touch—animal menace under a slick veneer of charm. Now that Nacho was no longer the target, he could appreciate Lalo’s power. And Nacho _owned_ that power now, controlled it. His pet tiger who would devour anyone who displeased him. A tendril of arousal snaked through him as he watched him work.

The lawyer offered some weak resistance before giving in. Nacho had no doubt he’d get the job done—the mix of fear and greed was like rocket fuel to a certain type of person. One of the crew gave him a ride out, leaving Nacho, Lalo, and Domingo alone.

“I like him!” Lalo said. He laughed and shook his head. “Condoms full of heroin—that’s a good one.”

Nacho’s smirk faded as he noticed Domingo leaning against the wall, shoulders hunched, his arms hugged tightly around his chest. Was he still scared of Lalo? How could he prove to him things really were different?

Nacho pulled Lalo into a kiss, then looked over his shoulder and met Domingo’s gaze. “Hey Mingo—you want a blow job?”

Silence crashed over them. Both Lalo and Domingo went still, as if Nacho’s words had turned them to stone. _Shit._ Wrong move.

“Kidding,” Nacho said. It came out weak.

Domingo rubbed his neck. “Yeah, I’m gonna go.”

 _Shit shit shit._ “You need a ride?”

“No. I’ll walk.” Before Nacho could call out to him, he was gone.

Nacho slowly turned around. His gaze locked with Lalo’s. Neither of them said anything for several long moments.

At last, Lalo sighed and shook his head. “The only way this works is if we forgive each other, Ignacio. So do we?”

Nacho rubbed his temple. “Yeah. I know.” Nacho looked back to the door. “I’m going to try to talk to him.”

Domingo hadn’t gotten far. Nacho jogged to catch up. “Mingo—wait. We need to talk.” He put a hand on his shoulder, but Domingo shrugged it off.

“I don’t want to be a part of whatever sick thing is going on between you two,” he said. “You can make me to stay in game, but you can’t force me to be involved with… _that_.”

“That was out of line,” Nacho said. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever.” He turned to leave again, so Nacho grabbed his arm, hard. Domingo struggled, but couldn’t break his grip. “Let me go—”

“Not until you calm down and talk to me!”

Domingo tried again to twist out of his grip. “You’re hurting me.”

Nacho abruptly let him go, as if Domingo’s skin was red hot. Domingo rubbed his arm, but he didn’t run away. “What do you want to say to me?”

Nacho rubbed his mouth while he gathered his thoughts. “I just want you to understand that everything I do is to make us safe—you, me, Papá.”

“ _Your dad?_ ” Domingo laughed—an ugly sound. “Yeah, let’s talk about your dad. You say he sold his business, but he never said shit to my parents about it. And the new owner says he’s sick in the hospital, but he won’t tell my folks which one, or what's wrong with him. And you told me he was going to Mexico with you. So which is it? Is he sick, or is he in Mexico? Where is he? Is he even alive?”

“Of course he’s alive! You think I would hurt my dad?”

“I don’t know! You disappear for weeks, then you call me and lie to me about what happened—don’t fucking deny it, I know when you’re lying. You say you ‘won’. You say you ‘own’ Lalo? What does any of that even mean? What did you do?”

“The same as I always do,” Nacho said through clenched teeth. “What I had to.”

They lapsed into a bruised silence. “My dad is fine,” Nacho said at last. “He was being threatened—I had to sneak him out of the country without anyone knowing. Now that I’m back, I’m going to fake his death. But he’s _fine_ —we’ve got him set up in this amazing estate, way nicer than anything he could ever afford. I’m taking care of him." He softened his tone. "Just like I’ll always take care of you.”

Domingo wiped his eyes—was he crying? “Can I go now?”

Nacho nodded vaguely. He waited until Domingo was out of sight before he returned to the garage.

“He okay?” Lalo asked.

“He will be.” He gestured to the car. “Let’s go home.”

But that was another lie. As he drove, his mind flashed through their history. Domingo, always clamoring after him. Domingo, who had once been in love with him, at least a little. Domingo, who moaned when Nacho beat him, and cried when he fucked him. Domingo, who Nacho tried to protect and always failed, because Nacho himself was the danger.

Because Domingo never would have found his way to hell if Nacho hadn’t blazed the trail ahead of him.

***

Nacho spent the rest of the afternoon researching places for his dad’s fake memorial service. When that was done, he moved on to the numbers the crew had given him, then studied maps of their territory to prepare for their meeting with Fring tomorrow. Lalo left him alone, sliding his dinner next to him on the kitchen table wordlessly while he worked.

Or tried to, anyway. The words and numbers often blurred, leaving him staring stupidly at the papers, his eyes stinging as he tried and failed to focus. He should give up. But once he put the work away, there would be nothing to distract him from the dark thoughts swirling in his head about all the horrible things he had done. _I had no choice._

But was that true?

Around nine o’clock, a whistle startled him. Lalo stood leaning against the door frame. He beckoned with one finger. “Come here.” Said in that same tone he used to use, before everything had changed. Dark. Warm. Impossible to refuse, even if Nacho wanted to.

And he didn’t want to. If he were being honest with himself, that had been true more times than not when it came to Lalo.

He should refuse—Nacho gave the orders now, not Lalo. Instead, he found himself obeying. When he stood before Lalo, he tilted his face upward, his eyelids fluttering.

Lalo stroked his cheek. “ _Pobrecito_ ,” he murmured. _Poor thing_. Mocking him? But no, his touch was gentle, his voice soft.

He kissed him once, twice, then took Nacho by the hand. Dazed, Nacho allowed himself to be led down the hall to the bedroom.

Once they were there, Lalo pulled him into an embrace. “Take off your clothes,” Lalo said in his ear.

Relief flooded through him as he complied—he could abandon the burden of decisions for a moment or two. His fingers shook as he undid the buttons of his shirt and his fly, and then he shed his clothes like a snake shedding skin, exposing quivering, tender flesh beneath.

Lalo took him in his arms and laid him tenderly on the bed. After getting undressed himself, Lalo joined him, running a hand along Nacho’s flank. “ _Déjame cuidarte, amorcito_.” _Let me take care of you, my love._ Another kiss, deeper this time, his tongue delving into Nacho’s slack mouth.

Nacho shuddered as the last of his resistance dissolved. Lalo hummed his approval as he pushed Nacho’s thighs back. He licked between his legs, over his balls, and then took his cock into his mouth in one swallow. Nacho’s fists clenched in the sheets as Lalo sucked him.

Just as he was about to come, Lalo pulled away. Nacho keened at the loss, but a moment later Lalo’s slick fingers penetrated him, working him open. The fingers vanished and were replaced by his cock. Nacho gasped as Lalo breeched him. It felt so good. It always did.

Lalo kept his thighs splayed wide as he fucked him, slow and deep. It wasn’t enough—Nacho whined and thrust his hips, begging with his body for Lalo to pick up the pace. Mercifully, he obliged. When Lalo bent forward to kiss him, Nacho ran his hands over Lalo’s chest. He froze when his fingers brushed over the scar on Lalo’s shoulder.

Lalo slowed down and put his hand over Nacho’s, holding it in place. “ _Te perdono, Ignacio.” I forgive you._

A sob wrenched itself from Nacho’s chest. Lalo sped up again, fucking him faster and harder until at last he pushed him over the edge, and Nacho fell, his orgasm so strong he thought it would shake him apart.

Nacho must have blacked out because the next thing he knew, Lalo was running a warm washcloth between his thighs. When he was finished cleaning him, he tossed the cloth aside and offered Nacho a tissue from a box beside the bed. Nacho accepted it and blew his nose.

“Better?” Lalo asked.

“Yeah,” Nacho said, a little surprised. How had he known that's what he needed? He hesistated. “Do you really forgive me?”

Lalo nodded. “And do you forgive me?”

“Yes,” Nacho said quietly. Or at least, he wanted to.

“ _Bueno_.” Lalo gave him a quick kiss before pulling back the covers and tucking them both in. “Let’s get some rest, yeah?”

Nacho almost laughed. He wasn’t sure he’d ever really rest again. Still, he shut his eyes and gave himself over to Lalo’s embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, baby! Very sorry for the long hiatus, but I got really blocked.
> 
> As you probably noticed, the chapters have changed. The Mike POV just didn't work at all, alas, although he'll make an appearance next chapter. There are two more chapters left after this one, and I promise the wait will not be as long. I've even got some of the next chapter written! The scenes just didn't work squished into this chapter, but here's a little preview:
> 
> _As soon as Hector caught sight of them, he started breathing heavily and shaking._
> 
> _“Tio!” Lalo said, concerned. He knelt in front of him. “Qué pasa?”_
> 
> _Hector’s gaze set on Nacho—his eyes screamed fury. A thin string of drool fell from his lips. Nacho’s blood turned to ice—had he figured it out?_
> 
> _Fortunately, Lalo didn’t seem to connect Nacho with his uncle’s bad temper. He spoke to him soothingly, patting his arm as he tried to calm him down. At last, he stood. “I’m going to take him outside,” Lalo said. “Maybe some fresh air will help. And surely he’ll be in a better mood when I tell him the Salamancas control the cartel now.” Lalo turned back to Hector. “Did you hear that, Tio? It’s all ours. Exciting, no? Come on—I’ll tell you all about it.” He wheeled his uncle away._
> 
> _As they left, a nurse approached Nacho. “He’s been in a terrible temper since his friend came to see him.”_
> 
> _Nacho frowned. “Friend?” It took a moment for it to click. “Black guy with glasses? Soft spoken?”_
> 
> _“Yes, that’s him.” She shook her head. “Such a nice man. Don’t know why his visit upset Mr. Salamanca so much. But there’s no rhyme or reason to their moods sometimes. I wouldn’t take it personally.” She frowned at him. “You feeling all right?”_
> 
> _“Yeah,” Nacho said, but it came out shaky._
> 
> Uh-oh, Nacho, watcha gonna do? 👀
> 
> Thanks to everyone for your patience, and I hope that you enjoy these last few chapters! It's been quite a journey - I'm so grateful for everyone who took the time to let me know they enjoyed it. It really means the world to me - thank you. ❤️️
> 
> PS - I made an Only You playlist on Spotify! Check it out [here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0Syzrl7T20pIR3FxRnzw8j) And as you can see, I've been procrastinating by making book covers lol.


	12. Myself Am Hell

They met with Fring the next day in a trailer at his chicken farm, for maximum privacy. To Nacho’s great shock, Mike the gringo was there. Mike gave no indication that they’d met before, and Nacho followed suit. After he got over his surprise, he realized that it made sense. Fring probably had a lot of uses for a man of Mike’s skills. Framing Juan Bolsa for Don Eladio’s death, for instance. No low-level goon would be up to that kind of challenge.

The meeting didn’t last long—they’d kept in touch by phone while Lalo recuperated. He wished they could do all their business that way—he hated the way Fring looked at him. Nacho didn’t have to guess what he was imagining as he raked his gaze over him. Fring had told him, in detail, the last time they met.

Afterward, Nacho and Lalo returned to their car. Fring and Mike stood on the steps of the trailer. Fring said something to Mike, but his gaze never left Nacho, watching him in that still way of his, like a serpent waiting to strike. It made Nacho’s flesh crawl.

Nacho put a hand on the back of Lalo’s neck. “Kiss me,” he murmured. “Make a show of it.”

Lalo glanced at Fring over his shoulder and turned back to Nacho, a smirk playing on his lips. “With pleasure, _amorcito_.” He swept Nacho into his arms and kissed the breath out of him. When it was over, they both looked to Fring. He retained the same impassive look he always wore, but one hand had clenched into a fist. 

Nacho and Lalo’s eyes met, and then they both started laughing. Lalo pulled him in for another fierce kiss. “I want to bend you over this car and really show Fring what he’s missing,” Lalo half-laughed, half-growled. “But we have other things to do.” Lalo gave Fring a cheerful wave and got in the car. Nacho blew him a kiss before joining him.

Next stop was Casa Tranquila—Hector’s nursing home. The smell of urine and antiseptic hit Nacho in a wave as they stepped through the doors. It took a moment for Nacho to pick out Hector among the decrepit crowd. Once, Hector had been one of the most feared dons of the cartel. Now he was just another old man, slowly rotting away in this fluorescent-lit hell.

As soon as Hector caught sight of them, he started breathing heavily and shaking.

“ _Tio_!” Lalo said, concerned. He knelt in front of him. “ _Qué pasa?_ ”

Hector’s gaze set on Nacho—his eyes screamed fury. A thin string of drool fell from his lips.

Fortunately, Lalo didn’t seem to connect Nacho with his uncle’s bad temper. He spoke to him soothingly, patting his arm as he tried to calm him down. At last, he stood. “I’m going to take him outside,” Lalo said. “Maybe some fresh air will help. And surely he’ll be in a better mood when I tell him who's running things in Mexico now.” Lalo turned back to Hector. “Did you hear that, Tio? It’s all ours. Exciting, no? Come on—I’ll tell you all about it.” He wheeled his uncle away.

As they left, a nurse approached Nacho. “He’s been in a terrible temper since his friend came to see him.”

Nacho frowned. “Friend?” Then it clicked. “Black guy with glasses? Soft spoken?”

“Yes, that’s him. Such a nice man. Not sure why his visit upset Mr. Salamanca so much. But there’s no rhyme or reason to their moods sometimes. I wouldn’t take it personally.” She peered at him. “You feeling all right?”

“Yeah,” Nacho said, but it came out shaky. He wiped sweat from his brow. “Actually—can you show me where the bathroom is?”

Nacho splashed cold water on his face. What had Fring told him? About the pills? About him and Lalo? Familiar fear bubbled from his stomach, but he swallowed it down. What did it matter what Fring might have said? Hector couldn’t speak. He couldn’t do anything other than drool and piss himself. And Nacho had done that to him. That was his power—to transform Salamancas.

He left the bathroom and got a soda from the vending machine. Lalo came in with Hector after about twenty minutes. “Can you sit with him?” Lalo asked. “I need to hit the head.”

Nacho rolled Hector to a table and sat down beside him. Hector eyed him as he quivered with impotent rage. And that’s what he was now—impotent. Nacho remembered Hector barging into his father’s shop and putting piles of cash on the counter, like a john leaving cash on the dresser for his whore, and forcing his dad to take it while he watched and smirked. How many nights had he lost sleep over what Hector might do? Nacho was still beset by threats—but Hector wasn’t one of them. Not anymore.

“The nurse tells me Fring came to visit. Seems like he told you something that upset you. Was it about me?”

_Ding._

Nacho ran a hand over his mouth. What would Fring have said? He could have laid out every detail of Nacho’s betrayal, from switching the pills to overthrowing Eladio to fucking his favorite nephew. But no, Fring liked to draw things out—to savor his torments. He would choose one thing and save the others for later. So which did he start with?

Not the pills. It pissed Fring off too much that Nacho had stolen his revenge. He wanted Hector to blame Fring for his condition—for saving him instead of letting him die with dignity. Hector wouldn’t care much about Eladio’s demise. Which left one thing. He imagined Fring showing up here in his human costume, the mild-mannered local business man paying a visit to his old friend. He had probably smiled in that soft way of his as he detailed what his nephew had been up to.

Why should Fring be the only one to have fun?

Nacho leaned forward and lowered his voice to a murmur. “I think he told you about me and Lalo. Is that right?”

Hector wheezed, and his eyes blinked rapidly.

Nacho made his voice even softer. “You know what Lalo's doing after we leave here? Cooking me lunch. And then he’s going to get down on his knees and suck my dick.”

Hector’s eyes rolled back as his breaths came in furious gasps, like a bull after the matador had stuck him. He lurched forward and fell out of the chair. Nacho stood and backed away.

“Tio!” Lalo emerged from the bathroom and rushed over. He tried to help his uncle up, but Hector twisted away, gaping like a beached shark.

An orderly and a nurse arrived. The orderly pulled Hector up while the nurse tried to calm. “Mr. Salamanca! You need to calm down—you’ll hurt yourself!” She turned to Lalo and Nacho. “He gets like this sometimes. You should probably go—you’ll only agitate him more. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of him.”

The orderly managed to wrestle him to the chair. Another nurse joined them, brandishing a needle. Lalo was frozen in place, his face a mask of misery as he stood there helplessly.

Nacho’s triumph collapsed. He put a gentle hand on Lalo’s shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “You heard her. There’s nothing we can do.”

Lalo hesitated, but then allowed Nacho to steer him out of the building and to the car. Lalo slumped in his seat and put a hand to his temple.

“I thought he’d be happy,” Lalo said. “It’s what he’s always wanted—the Salamancas in charge. But he wasn’t. I don’t even know if he understood me. Is my tio even in there anymore?” His voice cracked.

“The nurse told me Fring had been to visit,” Nacho said. “I think he told him about you and me.”

Lalo sat upright, his eyes wide. Then he sighed and slumped again. “ _Mierda_. That would explain it.” He chuckled darkly. “I think he already knew. Not about us. Just—about me. He never acknowledged it. It was like as long as neither of us said anything, I could still be his favorite nephew. Guess that’s over now.”

“I’m sorry,” Nacho said quietly. He turned on the ignition. As he adjusted the rearview mirror, he caught a glimpse of his reflection—his eyes dark, unfathomable even to him.

A monster’s eyes.

* * *

It rained on the day of his father’s memorial.

The universe, which had for so long conspired against him, now played along by offering up perfect mourning weather. The rain vacillated between a sobbing downpour and a whimpering drizzle, and the sky was the same charcoal gray as the suit he bought for the occasion.

The service was fake, but Nacho’s grief was real. In a way, it felt like his own funeral—Nacho Varga, finally deceased after a long battle with moral disease. He wished Lalo could be with him, but how could Nacho have explained who Lalo was to his father’s friends and employees? Even so, he regretted not asking him to come.

He tried not to think too hard about why he felt that way.

He hadn’t been sure how many people to expect. Ever since his mother’s death, it had just been him and his dad. His father’s parents had died when Nacho was a toddler, and after his mother had passed away, her parents had faded from their lives. Nacho had made calls to their distant relations. They’d expressed their condolences, but no one expressed interest in attending.

But his father had been well-liked around town. His employees came to pay their respects, as well as his little circle of friends—hardworking old men like him. Guiterez, the new owner of his father’s shop, came too—the only other person who knew it was a lie. He made a big show of his grief—trying to impress Nacho? Making sure to throw suspicion off himself? Nacho didn’t know and didn’t care.

Domingo’s parents also came and apologized for Domingo’s absence. Nacho was glad he hadn't showed. He wasn't sure he would have been able to stand Domingo looking at him the way he had the last time they met.

At last, it was over. Nacho returned to an empty house. Lalo had told him that he was going to make the rounds, so his absence wasn’t concerning—just disappointing. He changed out of his suit and into an old T-shirt and comfy jeans. All he wanted to do was zone out in front of the TV for the rest of the day.

But as he left the bedroom, he caught something out of the corner of his eye—a box under the bed on Lalo’s side, partially sticking out. It wasn’t Nacho’s, and it wasn’t something they brought with them from Mexico. Frowning, Nacho approached it.

He opened the lid. It was filled with manila folders. He picked one out at random and opened it—and his stomach dropped.

Hector’s medical records.

The folder slipped from Nacho’s hand, sending papers scattering. A high-pitched whine rang in his ears, and his vision went white. He sat down on the bed and put his head between his legs, willing himself not to pass out.

Had Lalo figured it out? Then why did he leave the box out in the open? To send a message to Nacho? No—maybe he just suspected something, but hadn’t figured out the truth yet. But why did he suspect? Hector had a heart problem—this was always a possibility for him. It wasn’t like he had a stroke out of the blue. There was no reason to suspect foul play.

Unless someone tipped him off.

His panic receded and anger rushed in. He gathered up the papers and put them back in the box as best he could, then grabbed his keys and headed for the door. He wasn’t thinking. He _couldn’t_ think, not with how loud the blood was that rushed through his ears.

It was only when he was in the parking lot of Los Pollos Hermanos that he came back to himself. What was his plan? He usually had one, but his mind remained blank. But doing nothing wasn’t an option, either.

He stormed into the restaurant and scanned the dining room. It didn’t take long to find Fring, puttering around the room with his broom as if he were just another harmless businessman. Nacho wanted to shout out what he was to the room, tell them about the wolf in their midst.

Fring caught sight of him; the surprise in his eyes gave Nacho a flash of satisfaction.

“We need to talk,” Nacho said. “Now.”

Fring’s lips thinned. Nacho wondered if he would try to put him off, but then he smiled. “Of course,” he said mildly. He gestured. “Please, come into my office.”

Fring’s office lied as much as his clothing and mild manners—nondescript, ordinary. Not a hint of money. What did he do with it all? What was the point of all the evil and the death if not to live in luxury?

Not that luxury had ever made it worth it to Nacho. The power wasn’t worth it, either. Only survival mattered anymore—and that was starting to have the same appeal as wealth and power. Still, Nacho would fight for it. It was his nature—the same instinct as any unthinking animal.

Fring sat at his desk. Nacho declined a seat. “What seems to be the trouble?” he asked. Still mild, still maddening. Nacho wanted to strangle him.

“Don’t act like you don’t know.”

Fring tilted his head. “I know many things. You are going to have to be more specific.”

“You tipped Lalo off. About Hector.”

“He confronted you?” His face remained a mask—Nacho couldn’t read him at all.

“No, but he’s taken out Hector’s medical records. He suspects something.”

“There are many reasons a concerned nephew might request his uncle’s medical records.”

“Don’t fucking try to deflect,” Nacho snarled. “I know it was you!”

Fring’s eyebrows raised. “And why would I do such a thing? If Lalo knew the truth, he’d kill you. I do not wish you dead.”

“What, you’re not into necrophilia?”

The mask cracked, but only for a moment. “You are jumping to conclusions. Have you spoken with him about it?”

Nacho ran a hand over his head. “No.”

“Then I suggest you try that first before you panic. Surely you can manage him. That’s a particular talent of yours, isn’t it?”

Nacho faltered. Could Fring be telling the truth? “This is one of your sick games,” he said at last. “Tip off Lalo, but not enough to point directly to me. You want me to fuck up.”

“There is nothing to be gained from disturbing our current arrangement, so again I ask you—why?”

Nacho sneered. “We both know why.”

Fring took off his glasses and wiped away some invisible smudge. “After Eladio and Hector slaughtered my Max, there wasn’t a day that I didn’t burn for revenge. Do you know how long ago that was?”

Nacho shook his head.

“Fifteen years,” Fring said. “If you hadn’t forced my hand, I would have been willing to wait fifteen more, until the moment was exactly right. The time for us has not arrived yet.” The mild-mannered businessman facade dropped, and he became the creature who had forced him to his knees all those months ago and declared Nacho _his_. “I can wait for you, Ignacio.”

The words struck him like a lightning bolt. Nacho took an involuntary step backward. Without being fully conscious of it, he fled the room, got into his car and peeled out of the parking lot. His pulse raced, his stomach churned. He didn’t know where he was going—just _away_.

He finally stopped somewhere in the middle of the desert, way outside town. The clock read four—he’d lost an hour and a half this time. His hands started to shake, and he couldn’t get them to stop. He forced himself to breathe. Fring was right about one thing—it was useless to panic. He had to get ahold of himself. He took out his cell phone and dialed Marco.

“I want you to kill Fring,” Nacho said as soon as Marco picked up.

Silence. Nacho was afraid he would ask why, but then, “We’ll be there tomorrow.”

Relief flooded through him as he shut the phone. It would be a mess with the cartel, but he could clean up a mess. Better than the alternative. He wouldn’t have a single moment’s peace until Fring was gone for good.

He was about to head back into town when his phone rang. He froze—Lalo? He still didn’t know what he was going to say to him. But no, it was a different number. It took him a moment to recognize it—Mike. He considered not picking up, but in the end relented. “Yeah?”

“We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Don’t be cute.”

Nacho laughed. “What, has Fring change his mind? He’s sent you after me?”

“Fring doesn’t know I’m talking to you.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Kid, if Fring wanted me to grab you, you’d be trussed up in my back seat right now.” Then, softer, “Just come hear me out.”

Nacho rubbed his face. “Fine,” he finally said. “Where?”

“The warehouse. Be there in an hour.” The line went dead.

* * *

The abandoned warehouse was a forest of shadows. It always made Nacho feel strangely safe. A good place to hide. Mike was already there when he arrived. He looked at home in the shadows too, except he wasn’t hiding. Nacho had called him a ghost once, but that wasn’t exactly right. More like a gargoyle—protective and watchful, and part of the background unless you were paying attention.

Neither of them said anything for a moment. “You look like hell,” Mike finally said.

Nacho crossed his arms. “Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

Mike sighed wearily. “Whatever game you’re playing with Fring needs to stop. You can’t win—not against him.”

Nacho snorted. “And why not? If you haven’t noticed, I’m doing pretty well for myself.”

“Is that so.” Said in that infuriating deadpan of his.

Nacho’s fists clenched. “Yeah, it is.”

“If you’re doing so well, then why not leave well enough alone? You’ve got a drug lord at your beck and call, apparently. Isn’t that enough?”

“Three,” Nacho said.

Mike furrowed his brow. “What?”

“I’ve got three. Lalo, and the cousins.” Nacho gave a little half-laugh. “Do you know what Lalo’s favorite thing to do in the whole world is? Sucking my dick. Maybe Nacho Varga couldn’t win against Fring, but I’m not Nacho Varga anymore. I’m _amorcito. Nachito_. _Hemano. Su amor_. They _worship_ me, and they can wipe you and Fring out before you even see them coming. So maybe _I’m_ the one who should be warning _you_ to stand down.”

Mike didn’t look intimidated. He looked pitying. “I’ve said my piece. Your life is your business, but Fring’s life is mine. I don’t want to go against you, but I will if I have to.”

Did he mean that? Nacho eyed him. “Does he have something on you? Blackmail? He threatening your family?”

Mike shook his head. “No, nothing like that.”

“Then what? Is it the money?” A thought occurred to him. “You could come work for me. My pockets are way deeper than his.”

Mike gave him a look that made him feel five years old. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“So what, you just like working for a psycho?” Nacho’s voice got louder with every word. “Do you remember when I tried to hire you to take out Tuco? You preferred getting your ass beat for half the money to pulling the trigger. And now you’re working for fucking _Fring_?” The name echoed around them like thunder.

Mike crossed his arms. “I’m not here to justify my decisions to you.”

Nacho scoffed. “You have no idea who you’ve crawled into bed with. Do you have any clue about things he’s done to me—the things he _wants_ to do to me? You willing to help him with that?”

That finally got a reaction—a barely perceptible wince. “Look, I’m not about to get in the middle of...whatever _that_ is. All I’m saying is that if you make a move, I will defend him. It’s my job. Don’t force my hand, kid.” His voice softened. “And take care of yourself. You really do look like hell.”

Nacho fumed as he drove away. Condescending prick—what did he know? Although maybe he should be thanking him. The flames of anger chased away the cold fear that had threatened to paralyze him. He’d get ahead of this. Marco and Leonel would get rid of Fring. He’d witnessed them annihilate an entire gang. What chance did one old man have against them? And Lalo? He _owned_ him. He’d believe whatever Nacho told him to.

Fate had tried to kill him, but Nacho had grabbed it by the throat—or maybe the groin was more accurate. He had won, and he didn’t have to be afraid anymore. And he wasn’t. He wasn’t. _He wasn’t._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Nachito. :(
> 
> Almost to the end! But it's looking like I'll need yet another chapter - we'll see how it goes.


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